I Was Born a Fool and I'll Die a Fool for You
by WastelandRose
Summary: "You're bloody ridiculous. You do know that, right?" "Yes. And thank you for using 'ridiculous' instead of 'insane.' It's a narrow distinction that not many people bother to get correct." Fred/OC
1. Daddy's Girl

Part 1 - Daddy's Girl

I was born on April Fools' Day, and it took my mum twenty minutes just to convince my dad that she wasn't playing a prank when she said she was going into labor. He fainted, and Mum had to call up his three best friends to revive him. They couldn't, so one of them carried him as the other two carefully escorted her to the hospital.

They arrived at St. Mungo's at eleven o'clock at night. I was born at two minutes to midnight, just in time for my dad to regain consciousness, then promptly pass out once more as he laid eyes on me exiting my mother's vagina. It's my favorite story.

My name is Stella Eris Black. Eris was because she's the Greek goddess of discord and chaos. With those being two of my mum and dad's favorite hobbies, it was a natural choice. Stella, which means 'star,' was because, when he fainted the second time, my dad smacked his head really hard against a countertop, and the laceration, and subsequent scar, was star-shaped. Mum picked the name as way of perpetually teasing him. That's my second favorite story.

My dad is Sirius Black. Yes, _the_ Sirius Black, prodigal son of the pureblood philosophy, legendary prankster, notorious murderer. I've always known he was innocent of that last one, and what is about to unfold before you is the story of how I proved it to the rest of the world.

I don't remember very much about him from back then; I was only two when he was arrested, when he was taken away from us. The clearest memory I have is of riding his motorbike. He used to tuck me inside his leather jacket, and take me flying, and I loved it. I would laugh and scream joyfully as he took me cruising through the clouds, and I would fall asleep surrounded by the smell of wind, and leather, lulled and comforted by my dad's heartbeat.

I wish we could've had more time together, but fate had other plans.

The night the Potter's were killed, they were over at our house. In fact, all my surrogate uncles were over at our house because my parents were having a Halloween party. They'd chosen to host one that year because they had a wonderful announcement. My mum had just found out she was pregnant, about two months along; I was getting a little brother or sister. Since I already adored my little god-brother, Harry, I was ecstatic, and spent the whole night chattering on and on to anyone who would listen about what a great big sister I was going to be. I was only two years old, and already had a hard time keeping my mouth shut for more than a few seconds.

James and Lily went home around ten. Voldemort came knocking at half past. All three were dead (or varying states of) a few moments later.

But I'm sure you know that part of the story, so let's move on to something you don't.

Members of the Order of the Phoenix all used to wear rings, or bracelets that had had panic buttons on them. If they ever got into trouble, they could push theirs, and it would alert the other members, send them running to help. They were Dumbledore's idea, after too many of his soldiers began being slaughtered in their homes.

My dad was the first to respond the Potters' distress calls, rushing over with his heart in his throat. He arrived to find his best friend, a man who was practically his brother, lying dead in the entryway. Devastating shock quickly turned into fear, and he stormed upstairs. Lily was dead as well, but that wasn't surprising.

Voldemort's lifeless body, however, was. The Dark Lord was slain, and the only thing left alive in the house was little baby Harry wailing in his crib. Blood was running into his bright green eyes from a small cut on his forehead and his glasses were cracked, but he was otherwise fine. It was a damn miracle. My dad picked him up, trying to comfort the screaming baby as he carried him out of the house.

Hagrid was the second member to show, already having been instructed by Dumbledore that he was to take Harry to his muggle relatives. Distraught, my dad pleaded to be allowed to keep the boy with him, but there was no arguing with Hagrid. Eventually he got his way, and my dad loaned him his bike to make sure they got there safe.

Dad went straight home after that, and was pacing the kitchen when I wandered down to pilfer myself a midnight cookie.

"Daddy?" I inquired sleepily, rubbing at my deep blue-gray eyes, the eyes I got from him, strangling my tattered stuffed purple puppy, my absolute favorite toy, which I'd also gotten from him. My dad jumped, and turned, and I could see that his eyes were puffy, and red, so I asked in all my babyish innocence, "Daddy, why are you crying?"

The expression that came over his face was heartbreaking, and even as I child I understood that something bad had happened. My daddy wasn't supposed to cry, and that made me cry, sad, confused, heartbroken little whimpers that immediately propelled me into his arms.

Cradling me tightly, his body shook against mine, and his deep voice soothed, "Shhhh, don't be afraid, baby. Don't be afraid." As is the case with a daddy's effect on his little girl, I calmed almost instantly. My daddy knew everything, and if he said I shouldn't be afraid, then I wasn't going to be.

I threw my small arms around his neck, snuggling into the comforting warmth and smell of his leather jacket. He hummed tunelessly as he carried me out of the kitchen, up the darkened stairway to my bedroom.

My eyelids were more than half closed by the time he brushed a loving kiss on my forehead, inhaled deeply, and then tucked my into my little bed.

I remember looking up at him, barely able to see anything but little glimmers where my nightlight was reflecting off his eyes. I remember him softly, reverently petting my tangled blonde hair as my breathing slowed. I remember being almost asleep when he whispered, "I need you to be brave, Stella, and I know you will be, because you're my brave little girl. Take care of your mum, and your little sister. It's a little sister, did we tell you that? No, I guess we were waiting for it to be a surprise... Just- Just be brave for me, and I'll try my hardest to be brave for you."

I didn't want him to go, and tried to grab him and make him stay, but I was too tired. He kissed me again, mumbling against my skin, "I love you, my brave girl. Always. Never forget."

I closed my eyes, murmuring softly, "Never. Love you, Daddy." And then he was gone from my life.

Just a few hours later, his face was plastered on the front of the Prophet. My father was a fugitive, and my mother was distraught. No one knew where he was hiding, and we didn't figure out until much, much later that he'd gone to track down Pettigrew. If he didn't find the rat, he was going to prison.

Unfortunately, someone spotted him in Diagon Alley, and my mother, Leda, who had been glued to the wireless all day for _any_ word of her husband's whereabouts, heard the bulletin go out. She rushed to the scene, carrying me with her.

We were just in time to be caught in the blast.

I never saw it coming. One second I was clinging tightly to my mother's neck, trying my best to be brave like my daddy told me, and the next my ears were ringing as my body was hurtled violently through the air, ultimately slamming against a brick wall. I wasn't even conscious long enough to feel the pain.

"That Sirius Black," I heard whispers in the following years, haunting me everywhere I went, "That Sirius Black is a monster!" I grew to hate the hushed, frightened exclamations from people who never knew the man he was, who never saw the goodnight kisses, and laughter, and love, "What an evil beast he must be to have betrayed two of his best friends, slaughtered another, and tried to murder his wife, and own daughter!"

Pettigrew was the real villain, the traitor, the one responsible for the Potters' deaths and miscarriage that killed my baby sister, but, at the time, Dad was blamed. He was locked up, and I was far too young to even understand where he had gone. All I understood was that he wasn't with me. It broke my heart.

Years passed, and my mum became completely consumed by the undying belief that he was innocent. She made sure I knew it, too, and spent all her time searching for evidence. Though she was right in the beliefs she held, she was driven slightly mad by them. The miscarriage the force of the blast caused also cost her the ability to have children at all, and she had a hard time dealing with it. She couldn't hold a job, and, since the Ministry seized my dad's bank accounts, money became an issue.

It didn't take long for us to lose our home, to end up bouncing between shitty apartments, persecuted everywhere we went because Mum loudly and unabashedly insisted upon my dad's innocence.

For awhile, during the summer I was five, we stayed with my Uncle Remus in southern Belgium, where he was teaching in a small wizarding school. Those few months were the happiest since my daddy went away. Uncle Remus (who was just my daddy's very good friend, and not really my uncle despite the fact that I felt he more than deserved the title) was kind, and patient, and used to read to me for hours and hours without his strong tenor voice so much as cracking.

But he didn't see eye to eye with my mother. While her faith still rested firmly in my dad's innocence, Remus didn't believe so. "We all knew there was a spy in the Order!" I heard him yelling the night we left, "You need to stop deluding yourself, and just accept the fact that he wasn't the man we all thought he was! He fooled us all, Leda! For Merlin's sake, he tried to kill you! And Stella, too! He cost you your unborn daughter! How can you-"

From where I was hiding, I heard his voice cut off by a sickening slap, and suddenly knew that my mother had struck him. The tense, painful silence was frightening, and I began to cry quietly, squeezing my raggedy purple puppy for comfort.

"Don't _ever_ try to convince me he did such a thing," Mum finally hissed, sounding more furious than I can ever remember before or since, "Sirius is innocent. You're his friend. You're supposed to _know_ that."

I heard her taking slow, measured steps across the tiny living room of the cottage, turning back just on the other side of the door I was hiding behind, stating coldly, "Thank you for letting us stay, Remus, but I think it's time we got out of your hair. Stella and I will be gone in the morning."

And she packed our things, and we left. Disheartened by Remus' beliefs, but filled with a new resolve to prove him, and all the rest of the word wrong, Mum came up with a plan. Somewhat stupidly, she thought she would be able to infiltrate the ring of the remaining Death Eaters, to spy, and gather some information that would prove my dad innocent of the crimes he was being incarcerated for having committed.

She took a low paying job as a private tutor to a pureblooded, spoiled-rotten little brat, everyone's favorite bouncing ferret, Draco Fuckface Malfoy himself. We both lived in Malfoy Manor for about a year, and I had to deal with that horrible boy quite a lot. A day didn't pass without him whining like a bitch to his ice queen mother.

"Mummy! I told Stella I wanted to play circus, and she won't be the elephant!"

"Mummy! I want Stella's cookie, and she won't give it to me!"

"Mummy! Stella won't stop reading and play with me!"

And then came that fateful day when I reached my limit. That uppity little bastard had the nerve to demand that I give him my stuffed purple puppy. Of course, there was no way in hell it was going to happen. My daddy gave me that puppy, and I barely ever let it out of my sight.

So he stole it from me while I was napping, and decided that it would be funny to cut his head off. When I found him with it, smiling evilly over the remains of my most precious possession, I went nuts. By the time the house elves pulled me off the little fucker, who only a year younger though about the same size as me, he was missing four teeth and his arm was broken in three places.

We were told none too politely to vacate the premises, and the year my mother had spent trying to gather information was lost. I know it was my fault, but do not for even a second regret what I did. And I know Mum didn't blame me. She repaired my stuffed purple puppy, and thanked me for being good for as long as I had, apologizing for having forced me to deal with Draco.

I was six when we left, and we were broke and homeless, outcasts everywhere we turned.

As much as I hated living with the Malfoy's, the next two years were even worse. The only job my mum could find that would allow her to keep on with her quest to find evidence of my dad's innocence was as a housekeeper for Severus Snape.

He was an extremely sour man, but not entirely horrible to me. I remember him reading to me a few times, though he wasn't nearly as good as Uncle Remus since he only read potion manuals. Occasionally, he had me help him cut ingredients, or watch over a boiling cauldron, and rewarded me with a few knuts or some candy.

To my mum, however, he acted like _the_ most fucking horrible prick on the planet. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I know why. My dad was his mortal enemy, and had tormented him all through school. I don't defend that, but still think that it was slightly sick of Snape to get off on torturing Mum as some demented sort of revenge.

She cried a lot, from things he said to her, venomous, stabbing little remarks he would make in passing specifically to hurt her, like a twisted little boy pulling the wings off a fly. My heart ached a little more each time I came across Mum quietly weeping to herself on the back steps of his small home in Minsk. It hurt like hell to watch her strong spirit breaking down.

It was a horrible, soul-crushing ordeal, but was fruitful in the end. In the middle of a freezing January night the year I was to turn eight, I was shaken urgently from a serene, inconsequential dream. Forcing my sleep-heavy eyelids open, I found that my mum's face was hovering above mine in the dark.

"Shhh," She warned in a elated, giddy, utterly terrified whisper, "Get up and dressed, my darling. We have to go now."

I did as I was told, and ten minutes later found myself being dragged through the darkened streets of the city. Even then, I knew something very big must have happened, and, let me assure you, it most definitely had.

In her bag, my mum had a roll of film. On it there were only three pictures, but they all showed Peter Pettigrew, alive and well, conversing heatedly with Snape in the living room of the potion master's foyer. It was all the proof she needed, and she had to see that it found its way into the proper hands.

We were on the run then, a race against time and the evil men chasing after us. After Snape found us gone, he put two and two together, assuming that my mum had seen Pettigrew, and he raised an alarm. He may be a bastard, but let no one ever claim he's a dunce.

Knowing how much danger we were in, mum wouldn't trust the film to anyone else. She developed it herself, in the dingy bathroom of our seedy motel room in Essen, Germany, and made three prints of each picture. I watched in quiet fascination as she put the sets in separate envelopes, one for the Ministry, one for the Prophet, and one for Uncle Remus. She wasn't taking any chances, so, on top of that, while the pictures were developing, she hid the negatives in a secret place. I don't know where it was though. She was gone for less than an hour, could have flooed or apparated anywhere in the world, and came back with a smile on her face. The only thing left was to send out the envelopes.

"You see, Stella," I recall her saying, an excited, nearly mad gleam in her usually listless brown eyes, "You see, I promised you I'd find a way to bring your daddy back, and now I have! We'll be a family again!" It was quite a thrilling prospect, and I slipped my hand into hers, preparing to accompany the blonde woman on her journey to mail the small three envelopes that had the power to set my father free.

Before we could take a step, a sharp knock came from the door. Three curt taps, _tap, tap, tap,_ and then frozen silence. I felt my mother begin to shake just before she let go of my hand, slowly creeping up to the pale beige door in order to look cautiously through the peephole.

"Hide under the bed," She demanded flatly, turning to face me fully for the last time. The dark circles beneath her eyes, hints of graying blonde hair at her temples, and the premature wrinkles on her pretty face made her seem much older than a woman in her early thirties should have, but her life had been hard, and exhausting. I'm sure she knew what was about to happen, but didn't seem scared at all, simply tired... somewhat resigned to it. Ready to stop running.

"Take this," She said, removing a key on a chain from around her neck and pressing it into my small hand, "And hide under the bed. No matter what happens, don't come out, or even make a sound. I love you, Stella." Being shoved beneath the bed, frightened out of my mind, I replied automatically, "I love you, too, Mummy."

There wasn't enough time for her to tell me what the key opened, or where she had hidden the negatives. If she had wasted the few seconds that would have taken, it would have been too late for me to hide. She chose preserving my life over securing my father's freedom.

From under the bed, I heard the door kicked in, but couldn't see anything aside from feet. Mum's I knew, but the other two sets I did not. Neither of the intruders spoke, but there was a rustling and tearing of paper that I recognized as the pictures being destroyed. The remains fluttered gently into my line of vision, and I had barely made out two halves of an image of Snape and my Uncle Peter, who I thought was dead, before a burst of magic hit the scraps, and they smoldered into ashes.

I was compulsively hugging my stuffed purple puppy, and squeezing the key in my hand so tightly that its jagged teeth were digging into my flesh, making a deep impression that would turn into a bruise and take weeks to fade. It was all I could do to keep from sobbing out loud, especially when I saw my mother kneel. The killing curse was uttered flippantly, the intruder sounding almost annoyed, and brilliant green spellfire flashed through the room.

Leda Black's lifeless body slumped very slowly to the dull, floral-patterned motel carpet with barely a thud.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, crying silently, getting dizzy and sick from the effort of keeping myself quiet. The two intruders, men, most definitely, conversed lowly for a few moments, but it was only dull background noise to the tragedy before me.

And then suddenly they were gone, and I could see flames consuming the room. It only took a few moments before I was choking on thick smoke, before I _had_ to crawl out from my hiding place or else die. I needed to get out of there, but my mum... I didn't want to leave her like that.

So I stayed, sobbing beside her remains until the smoke overtook me.

I woke up in a hospital, in a trying-too-hard-to-be-cheery room in the children's ward of a German wizarding hospital. I was being treated for severe smoke inhalation, and some minor burns on my arms. I shouldn't have run away, I shouldn't have taken my stuffed purple puppy, and my mother's necklace, and snuck out in the middle of the night. However, that's exactly what I did. I was scared, and all alone, and the only thing I could think to do was run, before the bad men came for me. It was stupid, and childish, but, as a stupid child, I feel that I should be exempted from blame.

I'm not entirely sure how I survived for nearly two months on my own, running on foot across Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France, and finally Spain, but I do remember that it was hard. Nights were cold, food was scarce, and there was never anyone around to hold me when I cried. I was sick, exhausted, hungry, always freezing, and had absolutely no idea where I was going, but was convinced that I couldn't stop. Something was chasing me, and it most definitely was not some shadow from my imagination.

I'd been following the coast since Marseille, France, and crossed the border into Spain the day before my birthday. Night fell, and I found myself in a small village called Port Bou. The weather was getting warmer as I traveled farther south, but it was still very cold at night. Wearing clothes I had stolen from a lost and found box in Switzerland, I quickly began to shiver. The alley I'd chosen for my bed that night was dark, and terrifying, and I still had the feeling that I was being followed.

Half asleep, I almost didn't know if I'd imagined the footsteps coming towards me, wasn't sure until I saw a tall shape looming from the darkness. I never knew I could run as fast as I did.

The figure gave chase, shouting what sounded like angry threats over the rush of wind and blood in my ears as I sped faster and faster away. The hard tattoo of his shoes on the pavement was so loud, and fast, and my heart was beating itself against my thin chest like a war drum. My lungs, still scarred and weak from the fire, ached tremendously, and my cold, malnourished body could hardly have kept itself going if my mind had not demanded so strongly that it do so.

Dozens of twists and turns finally threw the man from my trail, leaving me gasping for breath in a deserted ship yard. It was very dark, lit only by a few yellowed lamps that were throwing sinister shadows from the skeletons of half-built boats and claws of heavy machinery. It was a terrifying place, and I was so scared, and so tired, and so ill.

I started hearing the footsteps again, and couldn't hold back from sobbing any longer. I struggled my way onto one of the docks, hiding behind a stack of boxes very close to the water's edge. Curled in a tiny ball, I whimpered pitifully, trying to silently catch my breath and praying that the bad man would just leave me alone.

But he didn't, the footsteps slowly came forward, the old, splintered wood creaking with each one. I knew the man could probably hear my crying, but couldn't stop. I felt like a coward, not at all like the brave girl made me promise to be.

The creaking came to a careful, measured halt just on the other side of my hiding place. I squeezed my stuffed purple puppy harder, and held my breath, even though it made me dizzy. The action managed to cut off almost all the noise I was making.

"Stella?" The voice was soft though, and didn't sound mad or scary at all without the wind giving it harsh edges. I thought I recognized who it belonged to, but chastised myself for doing so. I had imagined the similarities because I so desperately wanted it to be someone I knew, someone who cared about me, the last person alive who I knew really did.

"Stella?" It called again, moving cautiously closer, sounding more and more familiar, "Please, where are you? It's Uncle Remus."

A sob finally broke out of my throat, relief flooding my whole body, and then he was there in an instant, scooping me into strong arms and hugging me fiercely against his chest.

"Thank Merlin!" He murmured against my temple as he planted a loving kiss there, "Thank Merlin you're safe, darling girl!"

Far too distraught to answer, I clung to him like a life preserver in a flood, weeping hysterically into his neck. "Why were you running from me?" He inquired, his normally strong tenor voice breaking as he soothingly rocked my exhausted little body, "Oh, you're so cold! And you're shaking! Are you hurt at all? Talk to me, love.

I was so tired, still gasping for breath and unable to stop crying. Despite that, I felt safe for the first time since my mum died, finally allowing myself to relax as a new wave of fatigue washed over me. After that, I only remember being carried away.

I spent my eighth birthday completely unconscious in St. Mungo's. It's just as well; there wasn't much to celebrate that year anyways.

Remus had been on my trail since Switzerland, and chased me all across Europe. He was there in the hospital where I'd been taken after the fire, and was the first to discover that I had fled. The presence I ran from, the one I was so paranoid and afraid over, was him. Honestly, I felt like a moron when I figured it out.

Remus Lupin is my godfather, so, with my mum dead and my dad incarcerated, he became my guardian. After a few days recovering in the hospital, that beautiful man took me home with him, and loved me like I was his own daughter.

He was living in a small apartment in the heart of Athens, Greece, working as a clerk for the Ministry branch there. My Uncle Remus is a werewolf, bitten when he was just a boy, and has a lot of trouble holding down jobs because of that. Well, actually it's more because people in general are intolerant bastards.

But I digress. We stayed in Athens just long enough for me to become fluent in Greek, about eight months (I'm a fast learner), and then he was fired. We bounced around a lot after that. Uncle Remus was a paper-pusher in Sarajevo, Bosnia, an accountant in Copenhagen, Denmark, a museum tour guide in Bordeaux, France (where I learned French reasonably well), and, my absolute favorite, a librarian in Dublin, Ireland (I speak a bit of Gaelic, too). Librarian may sound boring, but it afforded me hours and hours of sitting in a comfortable corner with any book my little heart desired. It was heaven.

Despite moving a lot, life was fairly calm. I missed my mum like crazy, but Remus took very good care of me. He still didn't believe in my father's innocence, and balked the first (and only) time I told him Mum had gotten evidence. He never argued with me though, not like he did with her, and I loved him even more for not trying to convince me that the one thing I knew for sure was false.

My Hogwarts letter was an unexpected surprise. I had heard tons of stories about my parents' and Remus' time there, but somehow never thought that I would go myself one day. I didn't want to leave my uncle, but, at the same time, was absolutely giddy over the thought of the adventures I would have.

I can still remember my first day like it was yesterday. Remus took me to the train station, and gave me a million hugs before he tearfully saw me onto the Hogwarts Express with one last call of, "FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, BE GOOD, YOU DARLING LITTLE HELLION!" Ya, that's his pet name for me, and I absolutely love it. Let's just say I've always been a spirited child.

I've always been pretty average height for my age, too, but, surrounded by that dense horde of students, I suddenly felt very small. Dragging my heavy, battered trunk (a hand-me-down from Remus) through the halls, trying to quiet the fuzzy little gray owlet he had given me before I left (which I'd named Mercury), I quickly found an empty compartment towards the back of the train, and claimed it for my own.

Then I sat back and waited, patiently reading and silently hoping for excitement to find me.

The train had barely been in motion for ten full minutes when it did. In a sudden, loud, startling burst, the door shot open, closing again in an instant as the two stocky, redheaded boys who had entered hunched down below the view of the windows and giggled like mad.

"Hello," I chirped brightly, making both of them whirl around, their identical, freckled faces immediately looking guilty and startled. Still, I smiled, and continued, "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing much, firstie," One mocked, brushing me off with a charming grin. The other was a tad more roguish, winking as he soothed, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

They couldn't have been more than a year older than me, and I definitely did not appreciate being talked down to like I was a toddler. Scowling, I replied snappishly, "If you're going to be arses, then you can _leave._"

"OOO! Fiesty firstie!" The roguish twin teased, elbowing his brother and causing deep red fringe to simultaneously fall into both their sets of light blue eyes, "What say you, Frederick, figure this one for a Ravenclaw? I'll put a knut on it."

"Nah, I got two that say Gryffindor. That was right brave of her, standing up to us blokes like she did."

"EXCUSE ME!" I shouted, very quickly becoming extremely annoyed with their discourse, "But I'm sitting _right here!_ If you have something to say to me, then fucking say it!"

"There, there, ickle firstie," The one called Frederick tutted, throwing himself down onto the seat beside me, and slinging an arm around my shoulders, "No need to get your knickers in a twist. We was just playing."

The other, still nameless, more roguish twin laid down at my other side, resting his head in my lap and smirking up at me as he replied flirtatiously, "Now, Fred, if the bird wants to twist her knickers, than that is her right. Girl power, a woman's body is her own business, and all that fun stuff. Say fuck again. You're smashing when you talk dirty."

Incensed and outraged, I was just about to throw both of them off and give them the thrashings of their lives, however, a more entertaining opportunity presented itself, and I simply could not resist.

"_WEASLEYS!_" A downright scary voice rang out, sounding like it must have had its origins deep in the bowels of the seventh circle of hell. Seconds later, the doors slammed violently open, making the entire compartment shake, the glass in the windows bowing outwards, whining from the struggle not to shatter.

All three of us froze, turning our gaze on the completely irate woman standing in the doorway. It only took me a moment to figure out why she was so upset. The miniature neon purple flamingos growing out of her head instead of hair were a dead giveaway.

"_YOU!_" She growled, advancing menacingly, gnarled hands balled into twisted, liver-spotted fists, "YOU _MISCREANTS!_ LOOK WHAT YOU'VE _DONE_ TO ME!"

"Wasn't us!" Fred shouted, crawling over me trying to escape (though I don't know where he expected to go). He tripped over his twin, knocking them both to the floor, where they became far too tangled with one another to even cower in a corner.

"DON'T EVEN TRY TO DENY YOUR GUILT!" The woman, who I suddenly realized was the one who I'd seen pushing the food trolley, shouted as she towered over them, "IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN ANYONE BUT THE PAIR OF YOU!"

"Um, excuse me, Ma'am," I interrupted politely, barely able to keep my devious smirk contained, especially when she rounded on me, and one of the flamingos bit her ear.

The woman looked like she was quite prepared to kill, but I didn't let that bother me, smiling softly as I stated, "I don't think these two boys are the ones you're looking for. They've been with me since before the ride began."

Her confusion was utterly, _utterly_ priceless. "Bu... They... Wha..." She spluttered, gaping like a fish, and completely at a loss for anything coherent. Over her shoulder, I could see the twins exchanging confused, hopeful glances. And, when I also noticed that a small crowd had formed in the doorway, I knew it was time to make the kill.

"Oh, yes," I stated softly, giving the redheaded boys a very sincere look of pity, "Poor dears have been just _bawling_. They miss their mummy already, and have been quite inconsolable."

Two freckled jaws _dropped_, the boys' expressions passing through identical processes of confusion, shock, and horror as the students gathered around the door began to snicker. I'm sure _some_ people would've felt bad about the way I planned to humiliate those two, but, fortunately, I am not one of those people, and therefore could enjoy the experience to the fullest extent.

Smiling soothingly at the angry, purple-flamingo-haired woman, I continued, "Yes, you see I happened upon them when I picked this compartment, and they were both sobbing quietly in the corners. This one," I paused, getting up from my seat to walk over and pet the twin whose name I still didn't know (the one who I thought had been just a little ruder to me) on the head. He looked frightened, but I managed a small wink, that would have been conspiratorial had I not been about to publicly humiliate him. "This little one," I continued, "He'd wet himself quite thoroughly. It's a good thing I had enough wits about me to perform a cleaning spell, or else he might have caught cold. Unfortunate little fellow was far too distraught to do it himself."

The giggling outside had turned into full on guffaws quite awhile ago, and the furious woman looked even more furious, her right eye twitching uncontrollably and the veins in her wrinkled neck throbbing. All was going perfectly to plan.

"Is this _true?_" She managed to hiss, her bony shoulders shaking from the effort of keeping her anger contained. Everyone turned to stare at the twins, awaiting their responses, and I couldn't help but smirk evilly as I watched them try to decide which was worse, taking an alibi that said they'd been crying and losing bladder function while the prank occurred, or fessing up to the prank and throwing themselves onto the mercy of the clearly homicidal trolley woman.

In the end, Fred turned bright red, and muttered in defeat, "Yes, it's true."

"So, you see, Ma'am," I stated, not even skipping a beat as I turned to the woman, as well as the crowd of snickering onlookers (some of whom had already run away laughing to spread the event to the whole train), "These two couldn't have been the ones that messed up your hair. They've been crying far too hard to even have gotten up, let alone ventured out with their mussed shorts."

The flamingos in her hair were starting to fight amongst themselves, and I'm sure it was just the last straw because she let out a strangled moan/yell/grunt/shriek, and turned, and stomped away, slamming the compartment door shut behind herself.

Once alone with the twins again, I couldn't help myself any longer, and burst out laughing, falling over on the bench seat, holding my aching sides, kicking my feet into the air, and finding myself almost unable to catch my breath.

"You sneaky little..." The unnamed twin grumbled as he got up from the floor, advancing on me with his wand in hand and looking like he wanted nothing more than to hex my arse to where my face is supposed to be. As soon as I realized the danger I was in, my own wand found its way into my hand, and, in just a split second, I was on my feet with it pointed directly at the redhead's neck. He had his trained on me, and we had ourselves a standoff.

"That was a dirty trick!" The boy shouted at me, seeming torn between outrage and amusement. I smirked, "I don't know what you're bitching about. Got you out of trouble, didn't I? You owe me."

"OWE YOU?" He gaped quite loudly, "What you do you mean _owe you?_ You just told everyone I pissed me'self!"

Fred snorted with laughter, and the unnamed twin reeled on him, insisting in outrage, "It's not funny!" His brother chuckled, smiling cheekily as he corrected, "It is a little funny."

And then the unnamed twin broke out into a small, almost unnoticeable grin before swearing under his breath, and turning back to me once again. Narrowing his eyes, he let his wand down, offering up his free hand as he introduced bluntly, "George."

"Hmm," I replied, cautiously shaking hands with him, "Even though your monosyllabic grunt of an introduction is far less than impressive, it's still very nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Stella Black."

The boy got a strange, thoughtful look on his face, then his eyes went wide, "Black, as in related to Sirius Black?"

"Yes," I snapped sharply, trying to remain calm until actually insulted, though I was sure that's what was about to happen, "He's my dad, and he's innocent... Got a problem with that?"

"No," The poor confused redhead stated, looking to his brother for help, "It's just... I thought he... killed you..."

Scowling, I informed him hotly, "My dad didn't kill anyone, and you're thinking of my little sister. She died in the attack on Diagon, but it wasn't him who did it. He was set up."

"Oh," George responded, seeming to be thinking hard as he scratched his tousled tomato hair, "Ok then." That was it. He didn't call me crazy, or laugh in my face, or anything of the sort. It was a blissfully rare experience.

Still slightly stunned by his lack of reaction, I almost didn't notice that the other twin was talking to me, holding out his hand as he said with a grin, "Well, I'm Fred, in case you hadn't already figured it out. Thanks for the alibi, even though it kind of... blew..."

Regaining my sense, I shook his hand as well, responding with a soft smile, "You're welcome, Fred. It's very nice to meet you, now that you and your brother are no longer behaving like arseholes."

He blushed, and I decided that it was quite adorable, especially when he stammered, "Sorry if you got offended. We didn't mean anything by it. Really."

I shrugged, "No harm, no foul. I can take a joke just as well as anyone else." Both twins beamed, chiming in an eerie, mischievous chorus, "Good to hear."

It was the beginning of a beautiful, slightly twisted friendship.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

k, well, I've been debating about whether or not to post this one for awhile, so be sure to let me know what you think of it. Should have a few more chapters posted shortly.


	2. The Dangers of Eavesdropping

Part 2 - The Dangers of Eavesdropping

The Sorting Hat didn't even have to fully touch my head to place me in Gryffindor, and I was quite happy for it. Both my parents had been in that house, after all, as well as my Uncle Remus. It seemed like the perfect place for a spirited girl like me.

It was also great because Fred and George turned out to be Gryffindors just a year ahead of mine. I'd spent almost the entire train ride talking to the pair of them, but wasn't entirely convinced that they wanted to be friends with me until my dinner exploded right in my face. Wearing a shocked expression, covered in gobbets of meat, potatoes, and gravy, the only thing I can remember thinking as I stared across the table at the laughing Weasley twins was, _"Oh, it is _so_ on!"_

I made no other friends that year. People were utterly _terrified_ of me for being Sirius Black's daughter. However, I was so busy fending off and pranking the twins, that I didn't even notice.

My first year at Hogwarts was an epic prank war the likes of which that school had never seen, and we're all quite fortunate that it didn't lead to any fatalities.

The war would have continued on with the same intensity throughout my entire career at Hogwarts had a face from my past not turned up at the welcoming feast my second year.

I remember being seated across from the twins, cackling maliciously to myself while they tried to pick hardened tar and feathers off each other's hair and skin (yes, I had them tarred and feathered, but they planted a _bomb_ in my trunk before we'd left school! I had no eyebrows for most of the summer, and half my hair was gone! The retaliation was more than warranted).

"You're pure evil, Stella," Fred grumbled across at me, wincing as George ripped a particularly large chunk of tar and hair off his scalp. Both twins would have bald spots for months, and it was _priceless_. Let's just say, I took _lots_ of pictures.

Snickering, I shot back cheekily, "Oh, don't pretend you didn't have it coming, Freddie. Not only did you burn off most of my hair, but I had to sit through no less than a dozen 'Dangers of Pranking' lectures from my uncle. Far as I'm concerned, you two got off _way_ easy."

"We're gonna get you for this, wench," George growled lowly, trying to pull of dangerous, but totally blowing it about three seconds later when Fred ripped more tar off his arm, and he let out a shrill, high-pitched, little-girl scream. I laughed, combing through my new, chic, very short spiked hair do, and responding, "Like I'm afraid of a pair of freckled dorks with feathers stuck to their arses."

Both sets of blue eyes narrowed, and I could almost see the gears turning in both their heads as they began scheming to get me back. I was happy. The rivalry kept me from realizing just how many people were staring at me and whispering viciously. Rumors about me were rampant, but I'd never heard a single one.

And then everything changed. I'd been mostly tuning out on the sorting, but suddenly heard McGonogall shout loudly, "Potter, Harry." I fucking _froze,_ and the reaction was worsened by the fact that the whole rest of the Hall went dead silent.

I turned, and there he was, my little baby god-brother all grown up. I hadn't seen him since I was two, and he was one, but he was just walking through the tables toward the front of the room, seeming scared. I wanted to run and give him a hug, but knew that he probably didn't remember me at all. I felt sick.

His sorting took _forever_, but it only felt like a few seconds to me. And then the Hat called out, "Gryffindor!" and Harry scampered over to our table amidst cheers and hollers. I was still frozen, and remained so until well after the feast had begun when George waved a hand in front of my face.

"Oy! Stella!" He shouted, finally flicking the tip of my nose to bring me back from the recesses of my mind, "Are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost naked. Headless Nick hasn't been having belt problems again, has he?"

"I'm..." I started, planning on saying that I was fine (lying and saying I was fine, but whatever), but then Harry was sitting right across from me! My mouth totally dropped, and coherent speech was no longer an option.

The poor thing looked so nervous and scared (and way, _way_ too skinny), and I should've been a good sister (well, god-sister, anyways) and hugged him, and told him that there was nothing to worry about, and shoved some fattening foods down his throat.

Instead, I pushed myself away from the table, stuttering quickly, "I-I have to go." And I ran from the Hall.

xxXxx

Somehow, I ended up on the roof of the astronomy tower, and that's where Fred found me several hours later.

"Finally!" He shouted, startling me so badly that I nearly fell off the edge, "There you are! What the bloody hell are you doing up here?"

After catching my breath, I turned to glare at him in the dark, snapping, "I _was_ enjoying being _alone_, brainiac."

Despite the fact that I'm sure he knew I was just being grouchy, he still blushed, and apologized softly, "Sorry. We just got worried when you ran off, and then when you weren't in the Tower..."

"No, I'm sorry, Freddie," I murmured, not looking at him as he sat down beside me, "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's not your fault, so don't worry about it." We both remained silent for a few long minutes, until Fred, not really _able_ to stay quiet for longer than that, pressed, "Soooooooo... what's wrong?"

I sighed deeply, "It's complicated... and kind of a long story." He rested his head on my shoulder, and I was slightly startled. We weren't the kind of friends who, like, did that.

His behavior was even more surprising when he smiled up at me, this big, stupid, sweet expression on his face as he answered, "I don't mind. I like your stories."

We also weren't really the kind of friends who talked about serious subjects. Our relationship thus far had been more of a good-natured rivalry, but how could I possibly resist the might of his cute face? I told him everything, about my daddy, and mum, and the conspiracy, and cover up, even showing him my key necklace, which I always wore but kept hidden.

His initial reaction was a simple, "Whoa."

"So... what do you think I should do about Harry?" I asked sheepishly, leaning on Fred's shoulder now because he had one arm around both of mine, "I mean, he probably won't remember me... what if he thinks my dad is guilty? What if he doesn't believe me?"

"We're _allowed_ to not believe you?" He joked incredulously, prompting me to turn and smack him on the chest. The both of us were laughing by then, and I remember thinking that it was impossible to be around Fred for very long and _not_ laugh. That's just the kind of guy he is.

"Only everyone else has to believe me," I explained, settling back against his side and laying my head on his shoulder once again. His arm fell around me, pulling my body closer, and I continued, "Harry though... he's one of the last people I have left of my life before they took my dad away. If he doesn't believe me it's not the same as when other people don't believe me... it's not a huge deal when people I don't know say I'm crazy, or making it up, because with them I don't lose anything. With Harry... I'd really be losing him... again..."

My voice was cracking, and I was getting that tightness in my throat I get whenever I'm fighting tears. I felt horrible about everything, anxious and scared, and, to top it all off, I was about to breakdown crying on Fred. I was sure he wouldn't really appreciate that, and he was going to think I was weak and stupid.

Instead, he hugged me tighter, his strong, freckled arms closing around my body as he rocked us slightly, and whispered, "Don't worry, Stella. Everything will be ok."

"No, it won't be!" I insisted tearfully, hiding my face against his chest, very aware that I must be getting his shirt all wet and gross. I was mortified by the whole situation, but couldn't stop, and just kept talking, spilling my guts, "Nothing will _ever_ be ok! It's not fair! I want my parents back! I want Harry to have his parents back! Why did it have to turn out this way? What did any of us do to deserve it?"

Not that I really expected one from him, but Fred didn't have an answer. He stayed though, and he never let go of me while I cried, and, in my book, that counts for a hell of a lot more.

"Merlin," I finally gasped a half hour or so later when I was mostly calm, sitting up from the redhead's soaked chest as I wiped tears off my cheeks, "I'm so sorry! I-I don't know where that came from."

Fred smiled, his blue eyes bright, sparkling, and clear, making me realize that mine felt hot and puffy, and were probably bloodshot. "No worries," He assured, carefully tucking a disheveled shock of blonde hair behind my ear, "Do you feel any better?"

Shrugging, feeling embarrassed, depressed, and vulnerable, I replied, "I guess a little.

It must have been late by then. The night was tranquil, and dark, the castle quietly sleeping, resting up for the flurry of chaos and laughter the first day of classes would undoubtedly bring. I could hear the far-off hoots of the owls hunting in the forest, and the screech of bats as they roamed the star-pricked sky. The sound of water gently lapping at the shores of the lake was utterly hypnotic, and then there was Fred, right there in front of me, gazing intently, the expression on his freckled face so open and caring.

Time seemed to slow down as I watched him lean closer to me, as his eyes closed and his lips parted, mine instinctively doing the same. A painfully soft, self-conscious, slightly off-target brush of flesh on flesh made time actually _stand still_. Our mouths pressed against each other for several long, drawn out seconds.

And then he started to lean away, and I did, too, but I guess he changed his mind, because his lips hit mine again. The second kiss was much firmer than the first, and took me even more off guard. What with feeling my face flush with embarrassment from the startled squeak I made, I barely even noticed that I'd begun to kiss him back.

He was more determined the second time, breathing quiet little noises as he reached up to cradle my face in his broad palm, pulling me closer, and prompting me to tilt my head so that our noses would stop bumping awkwardly. After the correction, our teeth still clacked together a few times. Despite the clumsy, far from expert execution, despite the fact that it was hardly the way, place, or person I'd envisioned sharing my first (and second) kiss with, it felt absolutely wonderful. Looking back, I don't think I would've wanted it any other way.

We finally broke apart, and enjoyed a brief second of silently savoring what just happened. Then we both opened our eyes, and stared at each other in pure shock.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked dumbly, hoping that my face wasn't as red as Fred's (which was a violent, endearing shade of crimson).

Suddenly seeming uncharacteristically shy, he shrugged, responding quietly, "I dunno. You just... looked sad... and I didn't want you to be..."

"Oh," I stated, still _very_ confused, as well as quite aflutter, "Ok... Thanks?"

Suddenly, I became aware of the cool roof tiles beneath me, and that they'd been slowly sapping the warmth from my body for the last several hours. I was freezing, and started to shiver. Since Fred had put his hand on my thigh at some point without me noticing (the sneaky little bugger), he felt it, too, and frowned as he asked, "Are you cold?"

"Ya," I replied quietly, glancing away, "A little." After a brief pause, I felt Fred's hand slide into mine, and he gently pulled me to my feet, saying, "Well, we should get inside then. Don't want you getting sick."

Giving a nod of agreement, I was fully prepared to do just that, but, before I even took a step, Fred took off his robe, and carefully draped it around my shoulders. The heavy black material was still warmed from his body, and felt really nice after having been cold for so long.

"Thanks," I whispered, smiling brightly, some strange, unfamiliar sensation gripping my chest and stomach when I saw Fred smile back.

"Any time, Stella, my dear," He joked, snapping back into prankster mode, back into the Fred I was used to as he slung an arm around my shoulders, "Any time."

xxXxx

Even though I was horribly worried that things would be weird between me and Fred, the next morning I discovered that nothing had changed. In fact, both of us pretty much acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened at all.

I mean, I pulled three of their experimental candies out of my pancakes, so, ya, things were totally normal.

"Really, Freddie," I teased, grinning devilishly as I tossed the maple-syrup-drenched toffees at his forehead, "I'm insulted. I would've thought that professional courtesy dictates you at least _try_ to camouflage your tricks. These were shamefully obvious."

"OY!" George shouted, pouting right next to his brother, "Why am I getting ignored? I helped with the shamefully obvious tricks!"

Fred didn't tell George that he kissed me. I realized that within two seconds of meeting up with them that morning since George didn't tease, sing dirty songs, or make smoochie faces at either of us.

Fred not telling George something was momentous, and, as far as I knew, had _never_ happened before. It could mean only one of two things:

1.) Fred thought kissing me was a mistake, and was ashamed by it, and didn't want his brother teasing him mercilessly.

2.) Fred really liked me, and was worried about screwing things up, didn't want his brother to tease him mercilessly.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Georgie-boy," I laughed in reply, pushing those unnerving thoughts out of my mind as I shot the twin I hadn't kissed a cheeky smile, "Credit where credit is due, and all that wisdom, so you're just as much of a lazy arse as your lovely brother."

A proud grin crossed his features, and he stated, "Thank you. It's nice to be appreciated." Because it was just a so very George comment, I shook my head and laughed.

But my laughter died very suddenly in the next few moments when I attempted to place my fork down on the table. It wouldn't leave my left hand.

"What the..." I swore softly, still trying to shake the utensil off. Both the twins burst out laughing, and I knew it had to be their doing. I wanted to kill them, but didn't have time because the fork began to morph, growing larger, the head turning into a sign.

The letters were huge, and brilliant, sparkling purple, and said clearly, "BEWARE! THE BLONDE MONKEY BITES!"

"I DO NOT!" I shrieked indignantly, barely caring that the twins couldn't hear me over their own guffaws. Reconsidering momentarily, I blushed, and corrected, "I mean, I AM NOT A MONKEY! You bastards! Oh, I'm gonna get you so bad for this! Take the sticking charm off me, and turn my fork back into a fork!"

"Sorry, darling," George chuckled, seeming very self-satisfied, "No can do. The public must be warned of such a menace. It's only fair."

Unbelievably mad, trying to hold back a smirk anyways, I growled, "You are going down!" Turning to set my gaze on Fred as well, I added, "The both of you! A line has been crossed! You have interfered with my breakfast consumption and made my fork lie! It is _so_ on!"

"Whatever you say," Fred teased, nodding over my shoulder before inquiring brightly, "But don't you have a certain savior of the wizarding world to be talking with right about now?"

I turned around, and there was Harry, walking nervously into the Great Hall with a shrimpy, redheaded first year who could only have been the twins' little brother. Both the small boys had that frightened/amazed look that first years always seem to have for the beginning weeks of term.

I was still terrified of being rejected by my little god-brother, but knew that I had to talk to him. I had to just suck it up, and see what would happen. If I didn't, I'd always wonder what would have if I did, and I'd always regret not finding out. Besides, I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing!

"HEY!" Left my mouth before I even knew I'd decided on screaming across the whole hall. The turned heads, stares, and whispers didn't faze me though, and I was up and running towards Harry.

"Hi!" I greeted brightly when I was finally trotting along side the raven-haired boy. I was trying not to look too nerdy and stalker-y, but probably failed quite miserably because I was in complete awe of how much he'd grown, barely able to contain my excitement as I continued, "I'm Stella Black!"

"Oh," He replied sheepishly, looking at me like I was _quite_ nuts, "Hi, I'm Harry."

"I'm in your house," I reported proudly, trying to make a case for the fact that I wasn't _completely_ imbalanced, "A year ahead of you. How are you liking Hogwarts so far?"

The boy smiled, those insane green eyes glinting behind smudgy glasses as he answered, "I love it. It's brilliant..."

He kind of paused after that, not really looking at me anymore. I was worried, but very quickly realized that he was reading the sign that was still stuck in my hand. Blushing, I hid it behind my back, soothing, "Oh, don't worry, that's not true. My friends played a prank on me. I've never bitten anyone. Well, no one who didn't deserve it, or ask me to really, really nicely."

I grinned at my joke, but the boy didn't seem to get it. "Ok," He agreed, sharing glances with the redhead at his side. In a sudden lightning-bolt of inspiration, I remembered that particular Weasley's name. "You're Ron, right?" I asked, smiling sweetly at the gangly, freckled little thing. He turned red all the way up to the tips of his ears, and his voice cracked horribly as he responded, "Ye-Es."

Laughing, I reached up and ruffled his hair, stating happily, "I'm a friend of your brothers', the twins. So, are you liking things here as well?"

Still looking embarrassed and just a little bit frightened of me, he muttered softly, "Ya, it's alright."

"You miss home, huh?" I pried, trying to sound sympathetic, even though I was secretly scheming. Poor thing turned red once more, and gave a slight nod. Grinning, I responded brightly, "Aw, don't worry. You're already doing better than Fred and George. Did they ever tell you about the train ride here last year?"

"No," He stated cautiously, glancing down the table at where the twins in question were still cackling mischievously together (probably over their prank on me, which I was about to _totally_ get revenge for), "What happened?"

Smiling, I announced, "Oh, it's how I became friends with them. See, I was just a first year, and I happened upon the compartment that they were in. Poor dears were both bawling about missing their mummy... George was so upset he even had himself a little _accident_. I had to comfort them."

I swear to Merlin, I have _never_ seen anyone's face light up as fast as Ron's did either before, or since that moment. The evil, ecstatic grin that little Weasley got was way too priceless for words, so I won't even try to do it justice.

"They've really never told you?" I mused out loud, "Well, I suppose they wouldn't. It is a bit embarrassing, after all. You can ask anyone though. The trolley lady was being cruel to them, accusing them of such horrible things, and so word of what happened got out because I had to tell her what they'd been doing when the prank occurred. I didn't want them getting punished for something they didn't do. That just wouldn't have been fair."

I think Ron stopped listening at some point during my ingenious story, as his eyes kept darting to Fred and George, and he kept fidgeting where he was standing, like he was just _itching_ to go tease them. Who was I to stop him?

"Did you have somewhere to be?" I asked sweetly, giving him the out he needed, which he took with an enthusiastically cry of, "YA! I need to, um, go talk to the twins! Bye, Stella, nice meeting you! See you in class, Harry!"

"Bye!" I replied brightly, smiling as I waved at his retreating form, then turned back to my little god-brother. "What a nice chap," I stated out loud, taking a seat beside Harry when he grabbed a large, uninhabited stretch of bench and table. He looked a little surprised, and still a bit scared, too, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from reconnecting with him.

"So, did you get your timetable yet?" I asked, not caring if I was pestering him. Shaking his head, Harry answered, "No, someone said we're supposed to get them at breakfast."

"Ya, you will," I assured him, having trouble with grabbing more food, seeing as I had to do it one-handed, and with my right, no less (I'm a leftie!), "They always hand them out at breakfast, but, no worries, I can tell you what classes you'll have. They almost never change anything except for the Dark Arts teacher, and it's that strange little Quirrell fellow this year..."

I went on to explain to Harry about all the teachers he would have, and the subjects, and what he would probably learn. I still remembered pretty much everything from first year since I'd completed mine just a few short months ago. Much to my delight, he seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying, as well as grateful for the information. Like any new student, I'm sure he had some major anxieties about what to expect, so he took my Crash Course in Hogwarts Life as a godsend.

"OH! Potions!" I suddenly remembered, instinctively making a sour face, "You'll have Professor Snape. He's a right bastard, and you should just try to keep your head down, though I doubt he'll let you. That man holds such a grudge..."

"Grudge?" I nearly jumped. It was the first thing Harry had actually said the whole time I'd been talking, and, after the shock, and the brief moment of giving myself an internal kick in the arse for being such an insufferable chatterbox, I smiled, and explained, "Ya, grudge. He, uh, I guess my dad picked on him a bit in school, so he's pretty horrible to me, and I've heard him say stuff about your dad being in on it, too, so you shouldn't hope for any half-way decent treatment." Don't think me horrible for wording it that way. I didn't want Harry making a connection between us too soon. If I told him our dads were best friends, I'd have to explain where mine was, and why... at that moment, he seemed to not know, and that was fine for me...

Harry's eyes went wide, and he whispered almost reverently, "He knew my dad?" Shrugging, I replied flippantly, "I guess, but I wouldn't go trying to powwow for info, you know? Like I said, Snape's a bastard."

Ron suddenly threw himself down into the seat across from us, and he was red in the face again, but this time it was from the fits of hysterical laughter he was having. I grinned, asking sweetly, "Good chat with your brothers?"

So breathless from laughing that he couldn't speak, the boy just nodded. Smirking evilly, I glanced down the table, immediately seeing that Fred and George were both bright red, and glaring straight at me. I gave them a coy, cheeky little wave, and then went back to my one-handed breakfast.

xxXxx

I became pretty good friends with Harry that year, and being around him was little being two years old again. Sometimes it made me want to cry, and others I was so ecstatically happy that I couldn't stop laughing.

Still, I never neglected Fred and George, and our prank war went on uninterrupted. To get back at me for telling Ron the train story, they filled my backpack with Peruvian fire dart frogs (to this day I can't figure out where they got such a large quantity, and neither of the brats will tell me). To get back at them for the frogs, which landed me in the hospital wing for two days of poison control and burn healing, I levitated them out of their beds in the middle of the night, and hung them both half-naked from the Great Hall ceiling. To get back at me for that, which did get a little out of hand since my sticking charms are so ridiculously good that they were stuck for nearly an entire day, they slipped me a candy that had me singing opera nonstop at the top of my lungs for a whole week (it was horrible. I couldn't eat or sleep, and by the end was so miserable and sleep deprived that I started hallucinating).

I'm pretty sure Fred finally took pity on me and just lifted the charm. George is far too sadistic to let me off the hook that easily, and, besides, ever since we kissed, Fred had been a lot sweeter to me. True, we were both merciless in our pranks, but afterwards he'd always ask me if I was alright. I really didn't know what to make of the change in behavior.

After spending two more days recuperating in the hospital wing, I was released on Halloween morning. I was back to my self by then, and so pissed off that I could barely see straight. There was no way I was going to let the twins enjoy their victory for long, and, with the bag full of potions and chemicals I'd borrowed (more like stolen, but whatever) from the storage cabinets in the infirmary, my revenge was going to be epic.

I was trying to make it back to Gryffindor tower to change my clothes and shower before ditching the day's classes. Part of the genius of my growing plan was that the twins weren't going to know what had become of me, and they were going to be frightened of the evil about to befall them. Psychological warfare is the best kind of warfare.

That's why when I heard their voices around a corner, I quickly ducked behind a tapestry, and held my breath.

"It was mean," I heard Fred state grumpily, "You didn't bother to visit her, so you didn't see how bad it got."

"She had it coming," George's disembodied voice laughed back, "Seriously, upside down from the Great Hall for a whole bloody day in our shorts? That was low!"

"What we did was lower," The other twin muttered in reply, sounding more like he was chastising himself than his brother, "We shouldn't have used the charm until we knew how to remove it. It was horrible watching her suffer like that while we tried to figure it out."

"What do you mean _we_?" George answered, followed by a playful shove, and, "_You_ barely left her alone, and even when you did you were bloody useless daydreaming about her. _I_ used my limitless brilliance to figure out how to lift the charm."

They lapsed into tense silence, and I could almost hear the both of them thinking hard. Then there was a loud smack as one of them hit the other, and it must have been George because he shouted, "YOU LIKE HER!"

"I DO NOT!" Fred shrieked back before I even had the instant needed to process the first exclamation.

Laughing, George teased, "You do! You do like her! Oh, this is too good!" He liked me? What the hell? "I don't like her!" Fred insisted hotly, sounding very grouchy, and I just knew from the sound of his voice that his face was bright red, "She's annoying, and she's... she's not even pretty!"

Fuckin' _ouch._ "What are you talking about?" George countered in disbelief, "Stella's sweet, and smart, and cute as a button! Trust me, little brother, you couldn't do much better than her. In fact, she's probably a bit out of your league..."

That was about the time that they turned the next corner, and the sounds of their conversation died out. I was left to stumble out from behind the tapestry, feeling hurt, and betrayed, and about two seconds away from bursting into tears. How could Fred say that about me? He was supposed to be my friend! George got points for defending me, but, still, I couldn't get over what his twin said. He thinks I'm annoying? And ugly? Why? What did I do?

As those questions swam around my mind, I slowly took the rest of the walk back to Gryffindor Tower, getting angrier and more hurt with every step.

xxXxx

I didn't talk to either of the twins for the rest of that day, and was so mad that I couldn't even think of a prank to play on them (well, at least one that wouldn't end in severe, irreversible disfigurement on Fred's part (after which I would dance in circles and shout, "Who's the ugly one now, bitch?") (I was mad, give me a break)).

I couldn't even bring myself to show up for Halloween feast that night because I knew that they'd be there. So, instead, I went stomping about the empty corridors, swearing under my breath, and occasionally stopping to pick fights with the portraits, which was sort of my unofficial hobby.

At around midnight, I got tired, so I used my robe for a pillow, and just went to sleep on the floor in an unused classroom.

In the morning, I had a horrible cramp in my neck, and the anger I'd been feeling towards Fred just seemed to have festered to even more momentous proportions. Ever had a rage migraine? They are _so_ not fun...

Unable to even think about food, I stumbled quietly back to Gryffindor Tower, looking forward to crawling into bed and spending the day cuddling with my stuffed purple puppy. It was very early, and I expected everyone to be in bed, so imagine my surprise when I stepped into the common room, and found Fred Weasley passed out on the couch closest to the portrait hole, wearing a fitful expression on his freckled little face. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to set his socks on fire. I wanted him to like me...

However, I settled for writing "COCKSUCKER" on his forehead in big, bold, black letters. Childish, I know, but it made me feel a little bit better, especially because the ink was super-permanent, hehe. It didn't wash off completely until the week before Christmas and he got more detentions that I could even keep track of.

At the sound of footsteps coming down the boys' staircase, I threw a blanket over Fred's whole body, and then stood up, and tried to look innocent. Why is that so damn hard for me?...

Harry's skinny little frame marched tiredly into my view a few seconds later, and I breathed a sigh of relief, smiling as I greeted, as pleasantly as I could muster, "Mornin', little bro."

His head suddenly shot up, and his eyes went wide. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" He screamed, making me wince, and immediately cover my ears as my head gave a horrible, excruciating throbs.

"OY! Not so loud!" I hissed grumpily, glaring once my vision straightened out, "Merlin, since when are you my babysitter?"

"Sorry," He responded, his cheeks turning red, "It's just that, no one could find you last night. We got worried, and the twins were going mental not being able to go look for you."

Rolling my eyes, I answered flippantly, "Ya, whatever. Even if that's true, what the hell was stopping them? It's not like they have problems with breaking curfew."

"Um," Harry responded, giving me a very pointed look, "How about the mountain troll, and student body lock-down, for starters?"

"What are you talking about?" I gaped incredulously, "Troll? Lock-down?"

My little god-brother then proceeded to relate the events of Halloween night at Hogwarts, of the troll, and how he fought it, and the only thing I could think was, "YOU IDIOT!"

He scowled, arguing, "Me and Ron saved Hermione though! And we think Snape is-"

"How could you put yourself in danger like that?" I cut him off, growing more and more furious, not even aware that I'd woken Fred with all my yelling, "All three of you could have been killed! What were you thinking?"

"Stella?" Fred asked groggily, rubbing his eyes as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Shut it!" I snapped, "This doesn't concern you!" Before I turned back to Harry, I saw a fleeting look of hurt pass over the redhead's features. I tried not to feel guilty, but didn't do all that well. As much as he may have wounded me with what he said, he was still my friend, and I still had feelings for him... the depth of those feelings was under heavy debate...

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled sheepishly, "I know it was stupid, but... well, I guess I'm just sorry."

Relieved, I sighed deeply, and then grabbed the boy into a tight hug. "It's ok," I soothed, nearly breaking down crying as I ran my fingers through his messy hair, overwhelmed by that being the first time I'd hugged him in years, "I'm just glad you're not hurt."

And he hugged me back! You don't even understand how good that felt, and I don't think I possess the capabilities to describe it.

A little later, too soon, in my opinion, we both pulled away, and Harry gave me a shy little smile that I returned. Reaching up to ruffle his hair, I laughed, "Promise me you won't do anything like it again, Bro. I mean, I know this is Gryffindor and all, but there is a difference between bravery and stupidity, and you're toeing the line."

"I'll give it my best shot," He replied, laughing as well before offering, "I'm just gonna head down for some breakfast. You wanna join?"

"No thanks," I answered, rubbing my temples again as my headache made its presence know with yet another painful throb, "I'm not feeling great, so I think I'm just going to go lie down." With another smile, he said, "Ok, well I hope you feel better. See you around."

"Bye," I stated, waving as I watched him leave, then turning back around and coming face to face with a very frantic Fred.

"Where were you?" He immediately asked, sounding terrified, upset, and relieved all at the same time, "Pomfrey said she released you yesterday morning, and then you never made it back when they locked us down! We were so worried!"

"Pft," I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I shoved past him, "Like you even care!"

"Wait, what?" The boy shouted, grabbing my arm, yanking me back hard before I could go anywhere. "Let go!" I demanded, completely irate by that point, "Get your hands off me!"

"What do you mean _I don't care?_" He went on, acting like he didn't even hear what I'd said, going red in the face as his grip tightened painfully, "Me and George got detention for trying to sneak out to find you because we were so worried! I'm sorry about our prank, but punishing us by making us think you'd been injured is low!"

I narrowed my eyes, struggling not to cry as I hissed, "You're hurting my arm."

For a split second, I almost didn't think he was going to let go of me. His blue eyes were darker than I'd ever seen, focused, and intense, and kind of scary. But then he did let go, and I stepped away, still glaring, but blinking back tears now, fighting to remain in control, to not let him see just how much he'd hurt me. I backed away slowly towards the stairs, but, before I could get there, George walked into the room.

"OY! There you are!" He said, smiling brightly, but tiredly, "Where were you all night? Been raising hell without us, you naughty girl?"

I met his gaze, and the look on his face immediately turned from happy to concerned. "Hey," He asked softly, "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing," I growled in reply, losing my battle with my own emotions and suddenly bursting into tears. Before turning and running up the stairs, I shouted, "YOUR BROTHER IS AN ARSE!"

The last thing I heard was George yelling after me, "Wait, which one?"


	3. Mangy Mutt

Part 3 - Mangy Mutt

I completely avoided the twins until Christmas, and it was pure hell. I hadn't realized just how few friends I had until I lost the only two that I did. I was lonely, and depressed, and just feeling down in general.

It was also unbelievably hard to avoid the two of them. For some reason, they turned up _everywhere_ I went. It was freaky sometimes, like they were reading my mind. Just not talking to them was exhausting.

But then Uncle Remus picked me up from the train station during holiday, and all that unpleasant tension lifted immediately. "Stella!" He laughed, immediately closing me in a tight hug, picking me up off the ground, and spinning me in circles, "I missed you so much, darling little hellion!"

"I missed you, too, Uncle Remus," I whispered hotly, burying my face against his chest and struggling not to cry from the sheer wonderfulness of him.

"OY! STELLA! WAIT UP!" The sound of the voice of a twin ripped me prematurely from enjoying Remus' hug, and I groaned as I demanded, "We have to go. Quick."

Before he could even ask why, Fred and George were suddenly blocking our path. "Stella," George whined, a bit out of breath, pouting at me in that way he knew I had a hard time resisting, "Come on, don't be mad at us anymore! We're sorry!" I glared at Fred, but he remained silent, staring down at his feet. He was the twin I was really mad at, and I suppose that George didn't deserve the vicarious anger, but I was irrational, and he looked far too much like Fred for me to be able to be near him.

"We don't have time for this," I snapped, prissily grabbing Uncle Remus' hand, "We have a floo connection to catch."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your little friends, love?" Remus inquired with a laugh, prompting me to roll my eyes. "No," I grunted, seeing both the twins' freckled faces fall before I dragged Remus away, "Let's go."

He's a sneaky fellow, that godfather of mine, and he waited until we were back at his tiny flat in Budapest, Hungary, snuggled down in front of the fire with steaming cups of hot chocolate, far too deliriously comfortable to even _think_ about moving to ask me about the twins.

"So," He began, clearly trying to fight a smirk, "Those boys at the train station seemed rather attached to you."

I snorted, pulling my blanket over my head before stating, "That's just Fred and George. I don't like them anymore. Fred's mean, and George looks just like him."

After he was through with his gales and gales of hysterical laugher, during which I glared hotly at the old man, he finally choked, "Oh, and I suppose these are the same two boys who you've been playing pranks with, and who burned all your hair off with that bomb in your trunk over the summer?"

"Yes," I answered simply, not really feeling like going into detail on the complicated relationship I had with each twin.

A far away, speculative look came over Remus' scarred face, tipping me off to the unavoidable fact that he was about to bestow some great wisdom upon me. Oh goodie. "You know," He finally said, not even bothering to fight the smirk this time, "When little boys pick on you, it means that they really like you."

"What?" I gaped, making scowling in confusion, "Why would they be mean to me if they liked me? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!"

"Well, maybe," He countered, smiling wistfully as he sipped his drink, "But little boys, and a lot of men as well, aren't exactly the most rational creatures on the planet. Sometimes picking on a girl is the only way they can think of to get that girl's attention."

I wrinkled my nose at the very idea, stating flatly, "That's _stupid_... and it's not even what happened..." Slinging an arm around my shoulders, my godfather pulled me to snuggle against his side, and asked very sagely, "Well, then what did happen?" I've never had a problem talking to Remus about anything, but the story was a little hard to get out. And I did omit a few things. Well, really just one thing... a certain thing that happened on the roof of the astronomy tower...

"Hmmm," He finally hummed, thinking very hard and down to the bottom of his hot chocolate, "It sounds like this Fred fellow cares about you a lot if he was so worried about you being safe."

"They why did he say those mean things about me?" I demanded, half-asleep against his chest, "I thought he cared about me before I heard what he said. I thought he was my friend."

Again, Remus got quiet, thinking more before stating wisely, "It wasn't a very nice thing for him to do, but it sounds to me like he doesn't really believe what he said. If he did, then why would he still care about you so much? And why would he keep trying to apologize?"

"I guess," I mumbled, yawning, fighting to stay conscious, suddenly feeling very horrible about ignoring the twins for so long. "Come on, love," Remus chuckled, lifting me up and carrying me off towards my small room, "Off to bed with you. And, you know, it's not really fair to be angry with someone and not tell them why. Even if you don't want to be friends with those boys any longer, you should at least let them know what they did, and give them a chance to make it up to you."

"Yes, Uncle Remus," I murmured, hugging him around the neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek as he tucked me in, "Thank you, love you, good night."

"Love you, too, darling little hellion," He responded, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead before turning the light off, calling softly back into the darkened room, "Sleep sweet."

xxXxx

On Christmas morning, in between thawing my feet dangerously close to the fire and devouring Remus' unbelievably wonderful breakfast spread, my presents arrived by owl. From Remus himself, I got lots of books, and from my Auntie Andromeda and Uncle Ted, I got some new clothes. My cousin Tonks sent me a little baby turtle that she'd bought in China, where she was on her first real assignment as an auror. The Tonks' were my only living relatives, and, just after my mom died, I was given the choice to either live with them or with Remus. I chose Remus, but it had nothing to do with not loving them. In fact, they were great people who I couldn't get enough of. The reasoning behind my choice was... well, I believe my exact words were, "But then who will take care of Remus?" I know, I'm adorable, right?

Harry sent me a very cute card, along with some chocolate, and I had a very, very good time telling Remus all about him over breakfast. After we were finished eating, I was getting ready to go play in the fresh snow when a ragged owl suddenly showed up in the window.

"REMUS!" I shouted, fighting a losing battle with a pair of bulky snow pants my butt was refusing to fit into, "POST!"

"Got it, love," He replied, chuckling as he wrapped a lopsided scarf Tonks knitted for him, which was far too neon against the rest of his drab attire yet nevertheless endearing, around his neck, "And you might have better luck with those pants if you unzip them first."

I blinked down at the closed fly, blushed, and then mumbled, "Right. I knew that."

"More presents for you," He stated, setting two packages beside me on the couch before moving to the kitchen to get some food to give the wheezing, half-frozen owl. Confused, I investigated.

The first package was lumpy and oddly-shaped, poorly-wrapped in sparkly pink paper, and tied with a messy fuschia bow. A cute little snowman card was attached, and I opened it to read:

Dear, dear Stella,  
Miss you talking dirty to me.  
Sorry for whatever bonehead thing Fred did to make you mad.  
Merry Christmas.  
Love,  
George.

"Aw," I whispered to myself, feeling three times worse about ignoring him as I ripped open the present. When I saw what he'd given me, I started laughing. It was a George doll! A cuddly, utterly adorable plush toy that had tomato-colored yarn for hair, and shiny blue buttons for eyes! It had freckles, and a big dopey grin, and a knitted sweater with a 'G' on it. It was just about the cutest thing I'd ever seen, and I immediately gave it a cuddle, which made it screech in George's unmistakable voice, "OUCH! I know I'm irresistible, but not so hard!" Far too classic, and oh so very George.

Next was, of course, Fred's gift. I was a bit reluctant to open it, but have never been able to resist a present. With dolly George singing Christmas carols on my lap, I picked up the square, red package. It looked plain, and was small enough to fit into my hand, and the card attached was completely blank except for the words:

Stella,  
Sorry.  
Fred.

Not sure whether to be touched or disappointed by the simplicity of the statement, I slowly unwrapped the paper. Inside, was a simple, dark wood box, which I opened as well.

And, as soon as I did, a blinding ball of white light shot right up into my face. At first, I thought maybe it was a prank, and nearly took cover behind the couch, vowing to kill Fred when I saw him. But then the light stopped in midair, just hanging there harmlessly as it threw off brilliant showers of white and silver sparks. I was confused. I mean, it was pretty, but what the hell was it?

As I stared, the center of the ball of light started to materialize into a picture, and I couldn't help laughing again. It was a photograph that had been taken at the joint birthday party I'd had with the twins the year before. Turns out, they were born on April Fool's day, too, so they threw us a big shindig in the common room. In the picture, Fred and I have our arms around each other's necks, and we're both smiling, and laughing, and poking each other hard in the ribs, and we look _so_ happy. A nostalgic little grin came over my face just in time for picture-me to shove a handful of cake into picture-Fred's face, and for him to retaliate, still covered in hot pink frosting, by drenching picture-me with a large cup of red fruit punch.

"Aw, Freddie," I cooed, reaching up to hold the beautiful, amazing picture frame in my hand. "Impressive," I heard Remus state behind me, leaning over the back of the couch to more closely examine my present, "That is an extremely complex bit of magic."

"Ya..." I mused, carefully guiding the ball of light back into the box, and shutting the lid, "Fred's really smart, and he's great at charms."

At the teasing smirk that came over Remus' face, I glared, seething in silence over how right he'd been.

"Uncle Remus," I finally inquired sweetly, leaning back to look up and give him my best cute face, "Can you take me to find presents for Fred and George?"

"Of course, darling little hellion," He agreed, his amber eyes sparkling mischievously, "Once you conquer the rest of your snow gear."

xxXxx

I sent George a snazzy purple top hat, and Fred a wonderful book entitled _The Irritable Male Syndrome_, which I was hoping would help him diagnose his male PMS, and take the first steps towards not being such a bastard. Hehe.

The remainder of holiday went wonderfully. I spent a lot of time playing in the snow with Remus, and annoying the people in his office. I went and visited my Auntie Andromeda and Uncle Ted for a day or two, and Tonks herself even popped in for a bit just to make sure she got to gush about how awesome her job was. Damn Ravenclaw show-off was trying to make me jealous... and it kind of worked. Auror didn't sound like too bad of a profession...

Anyways, when it was time to go back to school, I flooed with Remus to the train station, and, as usual, we were late, so I had to give him a hug and kiss goodbye while running frantically to jump onboard the moving engine.

"BYE! I LOVE YOU! WRITE ME!" I shouted out the window as soon as I was securely inside a car. Leaving my old uncle standing on the platform was always the worst part of going back to school.

But then he zipped out of sight, and I went on a mission to find the twins. It wasn't very hard. I came across the infamous pair crouching down behind one of the compartment doors, giggling madly to themselves over, no doubt, another prank on the poor abused trolley lady.

They didn't notice me, so I leaned against the doorjamb, my arms folded across my chest and a smirk on my face.

"Ahem," I finally interrupted, making them jump, and then tumble into each other, which was great fun to watch, as it always is. I was laughing too hard to notice them get to their feet, and stand in front of me, staring hopefully.

"Hey, Stella," George greeted pleasantly, "How were your hols?"

I returned a sweet smile as I answered, "Just great. And yours?"

Cheekily adjusting the clashing purple top hat on his mass of shaggy red hair, he replied, "Can't complain." And then we lapsed into a rather uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, I broke it, taking the first step towards mending our relationship by smiling up at George, and stating sincerely, "I'm sorry. I was horrible to you, and you really didn't deserve it. Forgive me?"

He grinned, and held his arms out wide, responding, "Of course! You're far too cute to stay mad at." And I laughed, and jumped into his grasp, and we shared a big ole hug, during which my feet completely left the ground. I hated that he was taller than me... "I loved my Christmas present," I told him, pulling away but not able to escape the tight hold he had on my waist.

"Made it me'self," The redhead reported, a proud grin splitting his features before he bent down close, wiggling his bushy ginger eyebrows and giving an innuendo-laden whisper of, "Anatomically correct, you know?"

"Bad!" I giggled, giving him a light smack on the chest, "Down boy! Don't make me get you fixed!"

Laughing heartily, he finally set me on the ground, adjusting his top hat once more as he said, "Love this, too. How'd you know I always wanted one?"

"Because I remember you saying that you always wanted one," I teased, smirking as I reached up to fiddle with the hat's placement, "Besides, it suits you." He grinned broadly, his blue eyes sparkling just like the buttons on the doll. It felt good to have my friend back.

But there was still the matter of Fred, who was standing silently off to the side, looking awkwardly at his feet and compulsively biting his lip (a habit I knew him to only indulge in when feeling extremely nervous).

"Hello," I stated, cool, but not quite hostile, "How are you, Fred?"

"Fine," He mumbled, still not making eye contact, "And you?"

I shrugged, "Alright, I suppose. Thank you very much for the Christmas present. It was sweet, and Uncle Remus says to tell you that it was a very impressive charm."

That made his whole face turn bright red. "Aw," I cooed, smirking viciously, "I made you blush! What happened to that ego of yours, Freddie? Has our prolonged separation actually humbled you?"

The blush got worse. "No," He grunted, threading his fingers through his hair before making a sour face, and correcting, "I mean, yes... or... I don't know..." It is very hard to stay mad at someone who's so entertainingly flustered.

But, I remained silent, giving the boy a very pointed look, staring him down until he crumbled. "I'm sorry," He said quietly, looking up for a split second, and then back down again, "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I'm not mad at you for yelling at me," I reported, putting my hands on my slight, pre-pubescent hips in a very stand-offish manner, "I'm mad at you for calling me ugly and annoying."

"I didn't..." He began to argue vehemently, only to cut himself off, his eyes going wide before he gasped, "You heard that?"

"Yes," I replied calmly, "Yes, I did, and it really hurt my feelings. The only reason I'm talking to you now is because Uncle Remus convinced me that you probably didn't mean it, and to give you a chance to apologize."

"I'm sorry!" He shouted immediately, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! George was making fun of me, and I just said that, and it's not what I really think!"

I looked him over carefully, satisfied by that point with his apology, but enjoying making him sweat for just a little longer. What can I say? I'm a cruel bitch sometimes. Finally, I smiled sweetly, and said, "Ok. You're forgiven. Wanna see my new pet turtle?"

The confused look on his face was utterly precious, and then he sputtered, "Um, ok."

"I named him Michelangelo, like the ninja turtle, you know?" I stated brightly, pulling my adorable little baby turtle out from the warm little nest I'd made him inside my coat pocket, "Well, I guess you two wouldn't know... it's this muggle cartoon show, that is, like, totally my favorite."

xxXxx

The rest of my second year was fairly uneventful. I nearly killed Harry for being so stupid with the whole Sorcerer's Stone thing, but, other than that, it was just a great deal of causing trouble with the twins.

Turns out, when they were serving the detention they got for trying to sneak out to find me during Halloween, they found a very special piece of parchment in Filch's office. At first, they thought it was just a cool bit of magic, insulting everyone like it did. But, by some lucky coincidence, they came across some graffiti deep within the network of secret passageways, and it said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Underneath were signed the names Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail. The twins recognized the names from the parchment, and tried the phrase, and the Marauders' Map came to life before their eyes.

For those two months we weren't speaking, the map is how they kept tracking me down, why they kept turning up everywhere I went. After we reconciled, they showed it to me and Hogwarts was never safe again. Oh, the havoc we wreaked...

That summer, Remus' job took us to Sao Joao, Portugal, and I learned to surf. I came back for my third year with a golden brown tan, and sun-lightened hair. The twins teased me well into winter about being a beach bum.

There was that whole raucous about Harry being the heir of Slytherin, but I never bought into it, and stuck by him throughout the whole ordeal, as did the twins. They quite enjoyed making light of the situation, too.

Ginny, opened the Chamber of Secrets, and I was there when the twins got the news. They were terrified, and each grabbed one of my hands, and did not let go until we got word that she was safe again.

Harry saved her, and I chewed him out for several long hours for being so stupidly brave again. He'd promised me he wouldn't, twice, and he'd broken that promise, twice, and I was furious that he'd put himself in danger, again. At the end of my tirade, I burst into tears, and hugged my little god-brother, and just kept saying over and over that I was so glad he was alright.

Another year was over, and that summer found my godfather and me in a rural Scottish city just north of Aberdeen. We had a small cottage near the coast, and Remus was working in the city as a clerk, and the job was _horrible._ He had long hours, and they often kept him over night. So, to make sure I wouldn't get too lonely, or into too much trouble, he arranged for my cousin Tonks to come stay with us.

A few other things of note happened during that summer. I grew boobs, for starters, and it was about damn time. I was the only flat-chested fourteen-year-old I knew. Being a late bloomer sucks...

Well, I suppose being behind my peers wasn't too bad because when I finally caught up, I caught up and then shot past them. That's right, I got stacked. It seemed like I was a 5'9" C-cup practically over night. Tonks took me shopping for my first bra (Remus would have, but she kept insisting that it was a girlie thing and he wasn't allowed to come), and the whole time we were in the store she kept pouting about me having bigger boobs than her. I had to remind her over and over that she was a metamorphamagus and could have any size boobs she wanted. She's an absentminded little thing, but I love her anyways.

Another event of mention is that the twins agreed to come visit me for two weeks. It was going to be so awesome, and I was so excited. I spent _days_ absolutely bursting with anticipation.

Oh, and, also, my dad broke out of prison.

His escape was a week before the twins were set to arrive at our cottage, and I had absolutely no idea he'd done it. I hate the Prophet. Actually, it's more like a blood feud over how they treated my family, and I _never_ read that particular publication, so was a bit out of the loop. Tonks and Remus didn't tell me because they didn't want me doing something stupid, like trying to get in touch with him. I would have, so I guess I really shouldn't blame them... not that that stops me...

The day that the twins were supposed to show up, I slept in late, until almost ten, because Tonks and I had been up until well past midnight just talking and being silly (which was usually what we did whenever we got together). She was still out cold, and Remus was still at work, and I wasn't expecting him home any time soon. He said he'd been put on an important project. He lied. In actuality, he was being questioned by the Ministry. Also, I think he just didn't want to face me because I would know that something was going on. He was hoping my dad would be caught quickly, so his plan was to keep my isolated and hopefully not have to tell me what had happened. It probably would have worked had he not forgotten that he'd already said the twins could visit.

The day was sunny, and warm, and beautiful, so I decided I'd go lay outside. I was wearing a really cute white bikini with red and yellow polka dots on it, and a pair of blue, oversized shades to protect my deep blue-gray eyes.

I'd been just laying in the sun for several hours, quite comfortably sprawled in the grass while I reread Zola's _Germinal_ (a tragic story, but a favorite of mine), when I suddenly heard a low whine from just inside the trees to my right. I sat up, and glanced over, and saw that a miserable-looking dog was limping out of the woods.

He was covered in dirty, matted black fur, and probably would've been humungous if he hadn't been so painfully scrawny. "Aw, puppy," I cooed, offering my hand as he continued to limp slowly towards me, "Where did you come from?"

He whined again, rubbing his nose against my palm as a prompt for me to pet him. I did. I've always loved animals, dogs especially. And even though he was a mangy mutt, I was immediately enamored with him.

But he was just so starved and exhausted that his legs suddenly gave out, and he collapsed into the grass at my side. "Poor thing," I soothed, giving him a few more scratches behind his ears before I got to my feet, and reported, "Don't go anywhere. I'll find you something to eat." The pitiful animal barely had the strength to whine in displeasure over me leaving.

I raced inside, immediately setting a bowl in the sink to fill with water while I went through the icebox. Luckily, we had a large plate of leftover chicken, and I commandeered it, sprinting with all my supplies back to the dog.

He hadn't moved at all from where I left him, and the unfortunate creature looked like he was struggling just to remain breathing. "Here you go, boy," I cooed gently as I sat by his side, presented him with the water, and began picking the chicken into smaller pieces. He lapped greedily at the bowl, and ate the meat right out of my hand.

Ten minutes later, it was all gone. He'd devoured everything and thoroughly licked the plate and my fingers clean. He was looking much happier and more alert than he had before, though still sick and skinny. His tail was wagging, his long, bright pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted contentedly.

"Much better," I stated, very pleased as I went back to scratching his neck, "You're so sweet and adorable. I bet if I cleaned you up, Uncle Remus would let me keep you. As long as you don't eat my turtle, that is. What do you say, puppy?"

In reply, he gave a happy bark, bouncing up and down tiredly before tackling me to the ground, and slobbering all over me. For such a scrawny bugger, he sure was heavy. "Ha ha! I'll take that as a yes!" I laughed, wrestling my way out from the doggie hug, and getting to my feet. "Come on, boy," I called, waving him to follow me, "I'll give you a bath, and feed you some more." My new dog walked along behind me, still limping, but seeming absolutely ecstatic in that hyperactive way that excited animals have.

At the house, I told him to wait outside, and went in to get supplies, which included some smoked ham, strawberry-scented soap, and my wand. Back outdoors, I fed the dog, and led him to the garden hose, where I spelled the water to come out warm, and then set to work giving my filthy puppy a nice bath. It was great fun, and I got all wet and sudsy, my shaggy blonde hair repeatedly falling into my eyes. I remember Uncle Remus teasing me once that I got the blonde from my mum, and the shaggy from my dad. It was nice to think that I had parts of both of them so close.

I'm not sure how much later I heard, "OY! Stella, you home?" It was Fred, and that meant that the twins had arrived through the floo. I was practically giddy with happiness as I shouted, "Outside, mates!"

"Couldn't even be arsed to come greet us properly?" George teased, his voice far deeper than I remembered, "I think we might be insulted, eh, Fred?"

In reply, Fred gave a hearty laugh, also sounding huskier and more grownup as he defended, "Of course not! We both know she's probably out there planning some either devious or wonderfully surprising for her two bestest friends in the world."

"Don't flatter yourself, Freddie. Not everything I do somehow involves the two of you," I chuckled, hearing the back door bang open. Unfortunately, the sound startled the dog, and he jumped in fright, knocking me into the spray of warm water and splattering me with soap suds. He barked, sounding slightly like he would've been laughing if he'd been human, and then shook all the water and bubbles out of his coat, drenching me once again.

I shrieked loudly, giggling and hiding behind my hands, though it did little good. The twins came running, but by the time they got there the dog was limping clumsily off towards the woods again.

I pouted that he was going to leave, but did feel slightly better when he stopped at the edge of the trees, watching me with interest.

"You got a dog?" George laughed from behind me, "Is he as vicious as that evil turtle of yours?"

"Michelangelo is _not_ evil!" I asserted loudly, turning and standing to my full height as I planted my hands on my newly filled out hips, "You were teasing him! I'm glad he bit you, prat! He should've peed on you, too!"

The first thing I noticed when I came to fully face the twins, was that I was taller than both of them! Sure, they had grown up a bit since last I saw them, sporting broader chests, and squarer jaws, which were covered sparsely with some russet stubble, but I was _taller!_ Finally, no more being the shrimp of the group! I was feeling giddy again...

But next I noticed that they were totally checking me out! Upon seeing me, both sets of clear blue eyes had gone wide, gazes slowly scanning up and down my scantily clad body a few times, and then the boys gasped in unison, "_Holy melons..._"

They immediately blushed in tandem to horrible shades of purplish-crimson, and corrected with perfectly timed screams, "MERLIN! I mean MERLIN!"

I probably should have found those kinds of outbursts insulting, or, at the very least, embarrassing, but, instead, I just thought they were hilarious, and laughed right in the Weasley twins' shocked, utterly mortified faces. "Should I have given warning in my last letter?" I teased, still giggling as I jokingly poked one of the bouncy mounds of flesh now situated on my chest, "Sorry, boys. Didn't realize they had this kind of power over you."

With the color still not entirely drained out of either of their faces, they both gave a heavy sigh, seeming relieved that I wasn't angry with them. I also should add that they didn't see fit to take their eyes off my cleavage... or my stomach... or my hips... or my legs...

"Done yet?" I inquired flatly, smirking and arching an eyebrow at them, too brave to squirm under the scrutiny of their stares despite the fact that I was a tiny bit uncomfortable. I still saw myself as skinny, goofy little Stella, not the kind of babe that would elicit the kind of looks I was getting from the twins.

"Sorry," George apologized, finally making eye contact, "I just didn't expect you to be so... _hot_."

I grinned, singing sweetly, "Flattery will get you nowhere, dear boy. If you really want to score some points, help me catch my dog. You and your lovely brother seem to have frightened him away."

"Where'd you get him?" Fred questioned, still slightly pink, although he was specifically trying _not_ to look at me, staring at the dog instead.

Shrugging, I answered, "I don't know. I was reading in the grass this morning, and he just came out of the woods. He's cute though, and I think he's a stray, so I want to keep him."

"I'm surprised you're allowed out of the house!" George reported distractedly, not even trying to hide that he was staring at my boobs, "I would've thought you'd be under an armed guard!"

The fact that he was ogling my body didn't even faze me. It was George, you know? Such behavior was almost expected. Anyways, I was more concerned with the confusing comment he made. "What are you talking about?" I asked, quite puzzled.

"You mean you _don't know?_" Fred gaped, looking some combination of shocked and outraged. I returned another look of confusion, "Obviously not. Are you two planning on filling me in any time soon?"

"Um..." They both drawled, sharing significant glances, giving me the eerie feeling that they were somehow communicating. I hate it when they do that. Finally, Fred stepped forward, gently taking my hand before reporting, "It's... your dad..."

This awful foreboding sensation prickled over my whole body, and I suddenly felt sick and cold deep inside my gut. "Oh god!" I shouted, already about two seconds away from crying, "What happened? Is he ok?"

"He escaped," George stated, slinging an arm around my bare shoulders, and squeezing me tight against his side, "Last week already. There's been no real trace of him since."

It took a few moments for me to actually process what I'd been told, but, when I did, I... I don't remember. I know I felt something, and I know it was _completely_ overwhelming because my knees buckled. The twins caught me before I could fall, and then I was on the ground, and my lips were parted just the tiniest bit as my breathing began to come in shallow gasps that weren't providing nearly enough oxygen. I was hyperventilating, having a panic attack. My brain failed me, and that had never, ever happened before in my entire life.

There was so much to think about that I couldn't think. My dad was free, but in so much danger! If he was caught, he'd get the Kiss! Would he come looking for me? Would he remember me? Would I remember him? And why the fuck hadn't anyone told me sooner?

"Stella, calm down!" Fred shouted, sounding frightened as he rubbed my back. "Really, love!" George added, shaking me by the shoulders, "Breathe!"

"What's all this racket?" A sleepy voice inquired as I heard the door bang open and closed, "Some of us were kept up half the night by our hyperactive little cousins, you know?"

"HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?" I shrieked, leaping to my feet and rounding on Tonks, who was still in her leprechaun-covered pajamas, her hair green to match. Halfway through a yawn, she nearly fell over when I got right in her face, practically jumping down her throat as I demanded hysterically, "HOW COULD YOU SPEND A WHOLE FUCKING _WEEK_ JUST PRETENDING NOTHING WAS WRONG? LYING TO MY FACE?"

And then she really did fall over, stumbling backwards over the garden hose and plopping right onto her arse into a muddy spot in the grass. "OY!" She groaned, looking some combination of scared and pissed off, "What are you on about, you nutter? I'm nowhere near caffeinated enough interpret you right now!"

"MY DAD!" I screamed, nearly sobbing, stomping my feet as I advanced on her. She scrambled backwards until she hit the side of the house, paling and muttering, "Oh... that..."

"AAAARRRRRGGGG!" I shrieked, so furious that I couldn't see straight any longer, "I CAN'T EVEN _BE_ HERE RIGHT NOW!" I had to get out of there or else I was going to end up attacking Tonks.

So I decided I would leave, storming right past the still startled metamorph and into the house. As quickly as I could, I threw on a tight white t-shirt and one of my school skirts, which was a bit small now that I'd had my growth spurt. It was too short and tight, but I really didn't have the time or mental capacity to be worried about how much it clung to my flat stomach, or how much leg I was showing. Finally dressed, I stomped back outside, and pushed past Tonks again.

"Where do you think you're going?" She demanded, running to catch up and stand in my way again, the twins trailing behind, "Stella, look, I'm sorry. Please, just calm down, and let's talk about this."

Before I even knew what I was doing, I'd pulled my wand on her. I'll never forget the hurt and shock that passed over her features. I regretted it almost instantly. But I couldn't turn back.

"_Move_," I hissed, my voice low and eerie, not even sounding like it belonged to me. I was scared, and angry, and hating myself quite a lot by that point.

And Tonks was unarmed, so she had little choice but to step aside and let me pass.

I stormed off down the road, vaguely aware of the twins following a few steps behind.

xxXxx

My drinking problem was not my fault. The universe didn't have to make me able to pass for twenty-one when I was only fourteen. Fate didn't have to deliver the exact means for my downfall directly into my hands. But it did, and who am I to ignore that?

After two hours of walking along a rural dirt road in silence, the twins and I finally made it to Aberdeen, where we spent the next few hours aimlessly wandering the streets in silence. I could hear the two redheads arguing behind me, and every once in awhile one would step forward with a determined look on his face, like he was going to miraculously pull some profound words of wisdom out of his arse and I would see some sense.

Ya, right...

Neither came up with anything, and they always ended up stepping back in defeat after just one pointed glare.

It was already starting to get dark when I looked down and suddenly noticed a twenty pound note on the pavement in front of me. Slightly confused by the odd stroke of luck, I bent down, and picked it up.

And then I saw that I was stopped directly in front of a rundown liquor store.

The universe was trying to tell me something, and that something was apparently that I needed a drink. I had to agree.

"Wait here," I commanded, not even bothering to spare a glance at the twins as I sauntered into the building.

I hadn't realized just how hot it was outside or how much I'd been sweating until a cold blast of air conditioning hit me square in the face. I shivered, my soaked shirt clinging awkwardly to my flushed and fevered skin.

A bell rang as I entered the store, and the cashier, a blonde, weedy, pock-marked little fellow, immediately looked up from his magazine. His mouth _dropped._ Call me a bitch, but I liked having that kind of power, and sent him a sweet little smile as I went up to a shelf and grabbed the largest bottle of liquor I could afford. It was dark glass, with a white label, but I didn't bother looking at what it was. I didn't particularly care.

"Hi," I greeted flirtatiously, handing the bill and bottle over to the cashier, holding my breath that he wouldn't ask for ID. It was definitely my lucky day, because he was far too distracted by my boobs, and rang me up as he replied dumbly, "Hullo."

And then, as he was handing back my meager change, he paused for a moment, seeming to gain some sense of propriety. But, before he could ask how old I was, I ran my hand slowly up my shirt, over my damp stomach, licking my lips before asking breathily, "Hot today, huh?"

"Ya..." He gaped, unable to take his eyes off my bared skin as I slid my shirt up to expose my abdomen. Still in that complete daze, he gave me the change, put my bottle, which I finally saw was rum, into a brown paper bag, and held it out to me. I took it with another coy smile, and turned around in a way I knew would make my short skirt flip up a little to reveal a flash of my polka dotted bathing suit, and called, "Thanks, stud." I was already out the door when I heard his stunned yell of, "You're welcome... uh, come again!" I really couldn't believe how naturally the whole flirt thing came to me.

When I walked back onto the street, both twins were staring like I'd gone completely mental. "How'd you do that?" George gaped, seeming unsure whether to be impressed or horrified by the feat I'd just accomplished. I laughed, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and taking a ginger sniff of its contents as I replied, "Boobs, Georgie-boy. I've discovered the awesome might of boobs."

Before either could respond to that statement, I put the bottle to my lips, and tipped it back, letting a flood of the bittersweet liquid burn straight down my throat. I was so hot already, and the alcohol fire deep in my gut just made it worse. I felt like my insides were melting.

And I was also completely a virgin as far as drinking went, never having ingested alcohol at all before that day. It tasted kind of harsh, and made me start coughing as soon as I downed the last mouthful.

"Blech," I couldn't help the outburst, looking between the utterly shocked and speechless twins, "Didn't think it would taste that bad."

They still just gawked, which made me giggle as the alcohol began to give me kind of a foggy, floaty feeling. Happy, relaxing as my senses dulled, I offered the bottle out to the shocked redheads, and inquired, "Want some?"

"Uh..." George drawled, cautiously taking the bottle as he shared a significant look with Fred, "Sure. I guess a little couldn't hurt..."

xxXxx

We got completely pissed. Well, George and me did. Fred only took a few sips, then seeming to naturally appoint himself as The Sober One. So bloody typical...

But I was too drunk to care much at the time, though I do recall teasing him a bit as we all stumbled slowly along the rural roads that would take us home.

"Such a girl, Freddie," I mumbled drunkenly, only half aware that the boy I was insulting was in fact the only thing keeping me standing. For some reason, I was irrationally angry that he'd been refusing more rum, and tried to shove the bottle in his face as I ordered, "C'mon! Join the party!"

The jerk laughed me off, taking the bottle out of my hands, but giving it over to his stumbling brother as he stated condescendingly, "If I get drunk, then who's gonna keep an eye on you? Don't want you getting hurt, you know? Besides, it's late. I'm sure your uncle and cousin are worried by now, so we should get back."

"OY!" George broke in quite loudly, nearly tripping as he held the bottle upside-down and glared up into the spout, "Stella! Ya drunk it all! Drunk! Now we need more!"

I giggled, thrusting my chest out as I shouted, "Right-o! Just find me a horny male selling liquor, and my holy melons will do the rest!" Then there was a lot more giggling, and George joined in for a bit before he tumbled noisily and clumsily into the dirt, landing with a large plume of dust and a pained, "OOF!" Seeming annoyed, Fred swore under his breath, then let go of me to help his twin get back on his feet.

I swayed on the spot, peering around into the dark trees surrounding the road. I was bored, and those feelings of betrayal, and anger, and fear were starting to worm their way back to the forefront of my thinking. I really didn't want that. Anything would do for a distraction. Luckily, I found one in the form of a set of big, blue-gray eyes shining from just inside the woods.

"PUPPY!" I screamed happily, weaving an inept path to the stray dog from that morning, "There you are! I'm so glad you came back!"

He limped sheepishly towards me, his head down and his tail between his legs as he whined pitifully. He seemed... sad. And that made me sad.

"Aw, puppy," I cooed, suddenly on the brink of tears as I plopped rather ungracefully into the dirt and waved the dog closer, "Don't cry. I-It'll be ok."

But he kept whining, limping over until he was close enough to lick my face, and that's when I lost it. I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and burying my face into his shaggy fur as I suddenly started _bawling_. He still smelled like strawberry soap.

What the hell was wrong with me? This wasn't right. I shouldn't be so upset.

"Stella?" Fred asked cautiously, kneeling by my side and placing a hand softly on my shaking back, "Stella, don't cry. Everything will be alright."

"You always say that," I sobbed brokenly, still squeezing the dog as he wound his head around my neck to pull me closer, "You always say everything's gonna be alright, but nothing ever is. Remus and Tonks still lied to me. My mum was still murdered. My dad is still a fugitive... my dad... they're going to kill him now. It's not enough that they took him from me, but now they're going to kill him because he took the freedom he always deserved."

Aside from the low whines of the dog, everything was completely silent. Even George, who was far too wasted to know what was going on, kept his mouth shut, seeming to somehow sense that right then was not the moment to report that he could see up my skirt... don't worry, he made sure to tell me later...

My tears blurred the darkness, and I started to get very dizzy, like I could feel the world spinning out of control beneath me. I got this sudden, profound feeling that something big was about to happen, and that there was no way to stop it. I would have no choice but to go along for the ride...

"Come on, love," Fred stated, gently picking me up from the ground, holding my body against his chest with an amount of tenderness and care that probably would've been suspicious to me had I been sober, "Let's get you home."

"No. I don't want to go back there," I whimpered, clinging desperately to his broad, stocky shoulders, "Please."

He paused, and I was afraid he wasn't going to listen, that he was going to take me straight back to Remus and Tonks, to make me deal with the fear, betrayal, and even shame that I was feeling. However, he didn't. He held me tighter, and finally whispered, "Ok, I'll think of something."

"Thank you, Fred," I muttered, already half passed out, resting my face against his chest, breathing in the clean scent of cotton from his worn t-shirt, "Thank you. I love you."

And that's all I remember. That's where the world goes black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I'd appreciate any feedback you can give. I'm still not so sure I like this one as much as the others...


	4. Hollow and Dark

Part 4 - Hollow and Dark

The first time I ever woke up with a hangover I thought I was _dying_. Really, what other explanation could there have been for my head feeling like it was split in half?

"Uuuugh..." I groaned, not yet able to open my eyes, extremely confused as to why I felt so cold, and nauseas, and achy, and just plain _miserable_.

A long, deep snore rumbled through my pillow, vibrating all the way through my exploding-M80-filled head. A confused, somewhat surreal pause followed, but, sure enough, just a few seconds later another snore hummed against the raw nerve endings and few brain cells that remained inside my skull.

I was confused, and disoriented, and _definitely_ not ready for a full blast of the sunlight that was making my eyelids glow fiery red, so instead I settled for blindly and stupidly groping my pillow. My pillow didn't particularly appreciate that.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" There was a scream that made the exploding M80's suddenly turn into one gigantic nuclear mushroom cloud, and then the pillow slid out from beneath my head. Not ready to support it on my own just yet, I couldn't help letting my poor, abused cranium smack hard against the ground.

"Ooooowwww..." I moaned helplessly, curling up in a ball as I tried to get my stomach to stop churning and the shrill ringing in my ears down to a dull roar. What the hell happened last night? I didn't remember getting cursed, hexed, or jinxed, and I especially didn't recall accepting any questionable-looking sushi from a Chinese man named Leslie selling out of the trunk of his car in the middle of the Mojave desert... from my own experiences, those two unlikely scenarios happening simultaneously were the only thing I could think of to explain the way I felt.

Fuck.

"Stella?" After its brief dereliction of duties, the pillow was apparently once again concerned with my comfort, "Are you alright?"

"If there is one merciful feather in your soft, fluffy body, you will smother me right now," I know it's an odd thing to say, but I'm an odd kind of person. The pillow did not catch on, drawling slowly, "Er... what?"

At no point during this entire exchange did I manage to remember that pillows can't talk.

"Bastard," I muttered, the "d" trailing off into a whimper as my insides cramped violently, tossing about like a leaky rowboat in a hurricane, "If you're not going to keep me from smacking my head on the ground, or even have the decency to put me out of my misery, then you are _so_ fired as my pillow."

A long pause followed, and then, "Are you still drunk?"

Drunkenness! Of course! That would explain the strange sensations I was experiencing! It all came back. Buying the rum. Consuming the rum. Getting drunk off the rum...

But no. No, drunkenness would've been more fun, and I most definitely was not having fun...

"Oh..." I muttered dumbly to myself, "Hangover." It suddenly seemed so obvious. I heard my pillow laugh at me, and then felt a gentle touch on my face brushing hair away from my closed eyes. "Ya," The soft, oddly familiar voice teased, "Hangover. Is it too awful?"

"Definitely," I moaned, suddenly wondering where the twins were, though still not thinking that it was strange for a pillow to be talking, "Now, be a dear and please smother me."

It laughed again, and cooed sweetly, "How about some ice water and chips instead? I remember Charlie telling me that it helped with hangovers."

The mention of food, especially something as greasy and salty as chips (that's fries, depending on what side of the world you hail from), made my stomach just churn. "Ooooh... Are you trying to torture me?" I demanded, clutching at the pain in an attempt to _make it stop._

"Of course not, love," The pillow protested, sounding slightly insulted, "Just trying to help." I groaned once more, rather sick of holding a conversation with something filled with feathers.

"Where's Fred?" I asked softly, squirming to try to get the rocks under me to stop cutting into my side, "I'm sick of you. I want Fred. Fred won't torture me with food. Fred is my friend. He's _nice_."

Another long, awkward pause followed, and then I heard, "Um... Stella, darling, who do you think you're to?" With an indignant huff, I grumbled rather childishly, "Stupid, _mean_ pillow."

And then there was laughter, gales and gales of loud, hysterical laughter that made my head throb painfully. As you've all probably guessed, I was not talking to a pillow. I was talking to Fred, and the bastard still hasn't let me forget this rather embarrassing exchange...

"Sweetie-pie," He teased, dragging me so that I could rest my head in his lap, "I hate to break it to you, but I'm not a pillow. I'm Fred."

"Lies!" I muttered, squirming to get comfortable, which made the pillow suddenly gasp and twitch, "All lies!"

"If you don't stop wiggling," He warned breathlessly, trying to move my head away from his sensitive bits, "You're going to have to deal with Fred Jr."

It took me a moment to figure out what he was saying, and then I had to smack his leg, scolding, "Pervert."

I cracked my eyes open, rolling over and finally gazing past my own blurred vision to see Fred's face hovering above mine. His cheeks were flushed pink, but he had a big grin on. "Am not," He teased, hoisting me up and away from his crotch so that I was now seated next to him, my head on his shoulder, "Are you at least convinced that I'm Fred now?"

"Ya, ya, the one and only," I grumbled, putting my arms around his waist and cuddling up close. We sat like that for awhile, and I just enjoyed how nice he felt, but then I got another intense pang from my abdomen, and moaned as I pleaded, "Freddie, I'm sick. Make it better."

"Mmm," He hummed, gently rubbing my back, "I told you, Charlie says ice water and chips do the trick." As my stomach gave another lurch at the thought of food, I groaned, and buried my face against the redhead's collarbone. "Stop it," I ordered, giving him another light smack, "You're just making me sicker."

"Sorry, love," He laughed, petting my hair, "But that's what he said. How about we start with just the water, eh?" I nodded, answering softly, "Ok... where are we?"

"The woods by your house," He said, gently tugging my wand out of the waist of my skirt, "You didn't want to go back, and I couldn't think of anything else. _Aguamenti._"

I heard a rush of liquid, and, a few seconds later, Fred pressed a transfigured glass full of spell water into my fingers. With my eyes closed, I hurriedly gulped it down. It was very soothing, and I did feel much better after three or four cups full.

"Thanks," I muttered, resting against Fred's shoulder and suddenly feeling very sleepy. "No problem," He answered, sounding surprisingly content for someone sitting in the dirt, in the cold, in the early morning nursing someone else's hangover. He's always been so sweet.

"What about Georgie?" I pressed, "And the dog? Where are they?" Laughing, Fred started to trace light designs on my arm as he informed me, "George is still passed out, propped up against a tree with his pants around his ankles."

At that odd bit of information, I just _had_ to sit up and see for myself. Sure enough, a few feet away George Weasley was passed out, propped up against a tree with his pants around his ankles. It was just so... him. "Did you do that," I giggled, "Or did he?" Snickering evilly, Fred responded, "Well, as much as I would _love_ to take credit, he pulled this one off all on his own."

"And us without a camera," I joked, still immensely amused by George's predicament, especially when he started trying to run in his sleep, got tangled in his pants, and fell over into the dirt. He continued to sleep soundly.

"And the dog?" I laughed. "Right here," Fred said, shifting to pat a previously unnoticed pile of black fur on his other side. A big, dopey doggy face popped up a few seconds later, a tongue lolling excitedly. Fred gave him a scratch behind the ear, smiling proudly as he stated, "Little guy wouldn't stop following me, and slept on your legs to keep you warm. I guess he must've gone off to take care of a little business after I fell asleep, but he turned back up while you were drinking your water."

"Aw," I cooed, smiling as the dog barked, leapt over Fred, and plopped himself down in my lap, "See, I knew he liked me. Such a good little puppy! Yes you are!" The dog still smelled like the strawberry soap I'd used to give him a bath the day before, and, even as I enjoyed petting him, I couldn't help but thinking back to what happened just after that.

I still had no idea what to do about Remus and Tonks. They'd betrayed me. They'd lied to me. How could I face them again?

And what about my dad? Where was he? Was he safe? Would he come looking for me? Would he remember me? Would he still love me, like he promised?

"Um, Stella?" Fred interrupted, momentarily distracting me from the questions buzzing through my head. I snuggled against his shoulder, answering, "Ya, Freddie?"

"Er..." He drawled, suddenly sounding apprehensive, which made me curious. I looked up into his face only to find that he was blushing slightly. "What's on your mind, Frankenstein?" I pressed, poking him in the side. Since I was definitely starting to feel less violently ill, my usual playfulness was returning.

Fred laughed at my antics, finally seeming comfortable enough to state, "Well, I was just sort of wondering about something you said last night."

"Oh, ya?" I countered, gingerly plucking some newly acquired twigs out of the dog's fur, "I don't remember much, so you'll have to remind me about the part that's got you all thoughtful."

Once more, Fred paused, choosing his words carefully before offering, "You said... you said that you love me... did you mean it?"

"Of course," I answered flippantly, and clear hint of _duh_ in my voice, "You and George are my best friends in the whole world. I love you both like crazy, and if you haven't figured that out by now, then you're really not as smart as I tell people you are."

I laughed when he blushed and quickly defended himself, "Well, I know _that._ I didn't mean... George said that you had a giant crush on me... did you really?"

It was my turn to blush, suddenly becoming very interested in the hem of my skirt as I murmured, "I wouldn't say _giant_..."

"So you did!" He exclaimed, sounding both astonished and excited, "Really? How come you never told me?"

"Because," I snapped, "It was just a silly little schoolgirl crush, and I didn't even realize I had it until you killed it." The boy was flabbergasted, immediately demanding, "But how did I-"

"'I don't like her!'" I mocked, doing a rather hilarious job of imitating his crackling thirteen-year-old voice, "'She's annoying, and she's... she's not even pretty!'" Remembering that day as well as I did, he turned red, and ashamed, and dropped his gaze. His words caused a huge fight between us, and I didn't speak to either twin for over two months.

Neither of us paid very much attention to the dog's low, rumbling growl as Fred stated, "I never meant it." Sighing, I soothed, "I know, sweetie. Little boys are stupid and I don't hold it against you. Hearing you say that just made me realize that you didn't have the same feelings I did, and that it was hopeless for me to keep having them, so I stopped."

"So that's it?" He inquired softly, almost disappointed, "You just don't have a crush on me anymore?" I started laughing, amazed by the wildly random timing of the conversation. "Not for several years, nosy," I teased, smirking as I decided to have a little fun with him. "Oh, I see what this is about," I stated devilishly, "You want to play with my new boobs, don't you?"

"WHAT? NO!" He exclaimed, turning bright, bright, adorable red. I don't think I've ever seen him as embarrassed as he was at that moment. However, I couldn't resist having a little more fun. "Why not?" I pouted sweetly, sticking my chest right into his face, "Don't you like them?"

Poor boy gaped like a drowning fish, his mouth working open and closed as he tried to think of what the proper response in the situation would be. After only two seconds, I couldn't help myself anymore and busted out laughing. It made me feel sick again though, so I had to lean on his shoulder to keep myself upright. Totally worth it.

"You're evil," He finally accused, his voice flat as he finally caught on to my joke, "_Pure evil_." And that's when he jumped on me, and started tickling me like crazy, and we both ended up rolling around in the dirt, laughing in the happy, carefree way we can only laugh when we're together.

"Oooooh," About five minutes of horseplay later, a moan from the other side of the clearing got our attentions. We looked up, and found that George was finally awake, sitting up, holding his head, and seeming to still not have noticed the half-mast state of his trousers.

"Awake, twin of mine?" Fred teased, not bothering to get his bony arse off of me. Moaning in pain, George responded, "Unfortunately."

Still feeling quite evil, I giggled, "Charlie says ice water and chips cure hangovers."

"UUUUUGGGHHHH!" He yelped, jumping to his feet, and, getting tripped by his pants ever few steps, hobbled off behind a tree to empty the contents of his stomach. Fred and I listened to the rather disgusting sounds of retching and vomiting, and then I looked up at him and observed, "Now I can see why you kept doing that to me. It's fun." He laughed and just shook his head.

xxXxx

After we got George properly hydrated, he, Fred, and I made the short trudge back to Remus' cottage. The dog followed for most of the walk, and we mainly discussed what I should name him.

"Maybe something to do with stars," I suggested, keeping a careful watch on the creature because I was concerned about his slight limp. I was already resolving to take him to a vet later, to get him checked out and fixed up, "So that he matches my name, you know?"

"Sorry, love," George grumbled, rubbing his forehead and still not quite as over the hangover as I was, "But I don't think you're gonna find too many male names under that category. All that comes to mind is Twinkle, and I don't think the poor creature would appreciate being called anything of the sort in public."

"Prat," I shot back, giving him a smack on the arm, "My dad's name's a star name, and it's plenty masculine."

"You want to name him after your dad?" George questioned skeptically. I rolled my eyes, "No. It was just an example. Do you have any brain cells left at all?" He simply glared.

"What if your uncle doesn't let you keep him?" Fred asked gently. Suddenly feeling quite furious, I narrowed my eyes, snarling, "What if I wasn't planning on _asking?_" The boy very quickly put his hands up in self-defense, and dropped the subject.

"OH! I got it!" George exclaimed, turning to me with a happy grin on his face, "You should name him George!"

Fred and I looked at each other, then back at George, and then both plainly stated, "No." The boy pouted, grumbling, "Nobody ever listens to me..."

"Sorry, dear," I soothed, reaching out to put my arms around his thick, freckled neck, "But we can only have one George. Just think about it. If I had to yell, 'George, get off that woman's leg!' or 'George, stop licking your crotch!' no one would know who I was talking to."

"OY!" He protested, pouting quite grumpily as Fred and I laughed, "That's not very nice!"

I was having a good time with my friends, and had almost completely forgotten about everything else. I should've known something was up when the dog suddenly perked up his ears, and then took off running back into the forest. "Hey," I pouted after him, "Where are you going?"

A loud cry of "STELLA! THANK MERLIN!" was followed shortly after by the sound of footsteps rushing towards me. I groaned, and turned to see Remus and Tonks running down the path.

"WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN, YOUNG LADY?" My distraught uncle demanded as he arrived in front of me, immediately grabbing my face in both hands to check for damage, "YOU HAD US BOTH WORRIED SICK! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, RUNNING OFF LIKE THAT?"

"ME?" I shouted, shoving him away, "WHAT WERE _YOU_ THINKING NOT TELLING ME ABOUT MY DAD? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?"

Looking absolutely exhausted and exasperated, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stated, "Stella, please, you have to understand that it was for your own good. I know how you feel about your father, and I know you still believe what your mother told you about him, but he is a dangerous man. I couldn't have you going off in search of him."

"He isn't dangerous!" I insisted, absolutely livid by that point, my fingernails cutting into the palms of my clenched fists, "He is a good man! An innocent man! You're his friend, Remus! You probably know him better than I do! Is it really that hard for you to believe he's not the monster everyone else makes him out to be?"

"YES!" He screamed at me, red in the face and madder than I've ever seen him before or since, "IT TOOK ME A HELL OF A LONG TIME TO ACCEPT THAT MY BEST FRIEND WAS A TRAITOR AND A KILLER, AND IT WAS THE HARDEST THING I'VE EVER HAD TO DO! BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH, AND IT'S TIME YOU STOPPED DELUDING YOURSELF WITH THESE CHILDISH FANTASIES AND ACCEPTED IT AS WELL!"

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't think. I always knew that Remus didn't believe in my dad's innocence, but he also knew that I did, and had never tried to talk me out of it. Suddenly he wasn't just trying to talk me out of believing in it, he was _demanding_ I stop believing in it. He was calling me a stupid child for having faith in my father's innocence. That moment changed everything between us. Irreparably. Forever.

I couldn't even look at Remus. He suddenly disgusted me. I knew that it wasn't fair, and I knew that we loved each other very much, but I _could not_ deal with him as a person anymore.

Fighting tears, I defiantly met his gaze, snapping shakily, "No." He was immediately taken aback, his expression going from furious to blank in nothing flat. He knew he'd made a mistake, and I knew that he was probably about two seconds away from apologizing when I sobbed, "You're the only traitor, Remus!"

With that, I shoved past him, and Tonks, too, when she tried to stop me, and ran crying into the house.

xxXxx

Remus asked the twins to leave, saying that he was very sorry, but it wasn't a good time for them to have a visit. They were reluctant, but not given much of a choice.

I was still crying, bawling into my pillow, when they came in to say goodbye. "Stella?" Fred called gently, sitting on my bed and running a hand down my trembling back, "Are you alright, love?"

"Peachy," I whimpered, rolling over to tearfully look up into the twins' worried faces. George gave a forced, cheeky smile, tugging on the hem of my too-small skirt as he comforted, "No worries, cutie. Everything's gonna turn out ok."

"Goddamn optimists..." I grumbled, sniffling even as I managed a small smirk. The boys smiled back at me, but the smiles dropped off their faces at the exact same moment.

"Your uncle wants us to go," George informed me, his voice quiet. Instantly, I sat up, shouting, "What? NO! Guys, stay, please!"

Fred gave my hair a slight tussle, and then brushed the tears off my cheeks as he said, "Nah. You know we'd love to, but... you and your family should get things sorted privately. Don't need two pranksters like us around making trouble, do you?"

"But-" I tried to argue, but both redheads simultaneously leaned down and pecked me on either cheek, Fred on the right, George on the left. It's not like that hadn't ever happened before, me giving them kisses on the cheeks, or them giving the same to me, but both at the same time was entirely new. For some odd reason, it made me blush crimson all the way up to my hairline.

The twins shared one of their _Looks_, grinning from ear to ear before suddenly jumping on me, hugging me tightly, tickling me, and kissing me a few more times.

When they were finally through, I was giggling, and panting, and flushed, lying snuggled between them, comforted by just the fact that they were there. For a few long minutes, we were all silent.

I had my head on Fred's chest, and he was playing with my hair. George had grabbed my legs and put them across his lap and was tracing light designs across my bare skin. It was... nice. I didn't want them to go.

"Boys," Tonks, sporting black hair, called cautiously into the room. I glared at her, and she looked very uncomfortable but still stated, "I've let your mother know you're coming home. There's floo powder on the mantle as soon as you're ready."

"Thank you," They chimed together, sounding rather sad. Tonks gave a nod, then glanced my way. I continued to glare until she left.

"Well, love," Fred sighed, "We'd best be off then." I nodded, but clung tighter to his chest. Neither twin made a move to get up and we sat like that until the sky grew dark.

xxXxx

The remainder of that summer passed in a drunken blur.

After the twins left, I spent only one night actually sleeping at home. The rest I was out drinking until I couldn't remember how scared, angry, and all around miserable I was, and then stumbling back to pass out in the woods.

I stopped laughing. I lost a dangerous amount of weight. I drank a hell of a lot more than was healthy. I put myself in a lot of stupid situations where I could've been raped, beaten, or killed, and it's only by sheer dumb luck that I wasn't.

I only went home a few times a week, and only when I wanted to change my clothes and write the twins. Remus was always there, and he was a mess as well. He didn't look like he was sleeping, and, from the unusual amount of wounds on his body, I could tell his moons were getting worse.

Every time we saw each other, he'd make an effort to talk to me, but I'm nothing if not stubborn, and refused to even indulge him in the most basic of interactions.

Tonks was about the same, except that she was immensely pissed I wouldn't talk to her. "STELLA ERIS BLACK!" She finally shouted one day when summer was almost over. Nearly through attaching a letter to Remus' owl, I glanced over my shoulder, sending a blank, disinterested look at the violet-haired woman before turning back to my task.

"Answer me!" The enraged metamorph demanded, stomping her foot like a petulant child. I ignored her, sending off the owl and then shoving past her into my room to dress.

She followed me. I wanted her to leave, so I tried to glare her out. It didn't work. I wasn't about to let her win though, and shamelessly began to strip out of my three-day-old outfit.

She watched me unflinchingly, her eyes rolling over my naked body, over the sharp points of my ribs and hip bones, and the emaciated hollow where my stomach used to be. Since I wasn't on good enough terms to ask for a shopping trip, all my clothes still didn't fit. My skirts were too short, though the weight loss had helped quite a bit with making them not quite so tight. My shirts, however, still strained along the bust, and only reached to the bottom of my ribs.

Even though I was unhealthy, I was still a bit of a babe, and had a dark tan from spending many long hours sunbathing by the bank of an isolated creek about two miles away. My hair was sun kissed and golden for the same reason. All the unhealthy, destructive things I was doing didn't matter because I was still good looking, and that's what that summer really taught me the importance of anyways.

"Stella," My cousin finally got my attention, her voice considerably softer, "Please, just talk to us. We're really worried about you."

Wordlessly, I left again.

That day was only two before I was set to go back to school, and I was counting down the seconds. I remember that I was didn't feel like going into town that day. It was hot, and the walk was too long. I was still a little drunk from the night before, which I'd spent hanging out in a bar, making eyes at old men until they bought me drinks. I preferred to buy my own alcohol and drink alone, but when I didn't have the money it would do. Like I said, one of the very valuable life lessons I learned that summer was that being hot would get you just about anything you wanted. I am very aware of how shallow it is, but it's not like it's my fault that that's the way the world works.

Anyways, I reeked of cigarettes and booze, so I decided to go to the creek and rinse off.

I could've showered at home, but that would've involved lengthening my visit, which I thought wasn't worth it.

So I turned in towards the forest, and set on my way. About a hundred yards into the trees, just when the house was out of sight, my dog showed up, barking happily as he bounded up to my side.

"Hey, boy," I said, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes as I patted him on the head. I never did think of a name for him. Nothing quite fit.

He wasn't a pet, more of a companion. I fed him, and took care of him, and he kept me from getting too lonely. He never went near the house with me, and disappeared sometimes, but was usually around for me to talk to.

"Remus and Tonks are _worried_," I complained to him, rolling my eyes as I continued to walk at a slow, leisurely pace, deeply imbued with the heavy lethargy of an unusually fiery summer. The dog, giving an uncanny appearance of listening, trotted along beside me as I continued, "If they were so damn worried about me, then they wouldn't have lied to me to begin with. This is their own faults, you know? It's not like I'm to blame that no one will believe the truth about my dad."

His ears perking up, the dog butted his head slightly against my leg, prompting me to lay my hand on it and scratch as I mused distractedly, "I could prove it, but I don't know where Mum hid those negatives, and it's so fucking frustrating. I mean, they could be anywhere, and this stupid key doesn't do any good until I know where the hell that anywhere is!"

Almost without thinking, I fished the silver chain that held the key out of my shirt, and regarded the it for a few minutes. Nothing about it suggested the location of what it would unlock. The handle was a frilly, ornamental piece, the shaft smooth, and the teeth small and jagged. I knew the shape of it well enough. I had, after all, been wearing it around my neck since my mum gave it to me. I didn't take it off because I didn't want to risk ever losing it.

With a heavy sigh, resigned once more to the infuriating ignorance I'd always been stranded in, I tucked the key away, and silently walked the rest of the way to the creek.

xxXxx

The morning of September first was rainy and gray and cold. I was severely hungover, but still snuck into the house very early to pack my things. Two minutes of wand swishing later, I was in the floo with my turtle and dog, and off to King's Cross. I didn't bother to say goodbye, or even leave a note, and was quite sure I wouldn't be coming home again.

Since I was so early, the platform was entirely deserted, which gave me perfect opportunity to hide the dog. "Sorry, boy," I apologized to my mutt as I gestured him into an empty compartment in my magically expanding trunk, "But Hogwarts doesn't allow dogs, so you'll have to hide until we get there. Don't worry, you'll love it. There's lots of forest for you to run about, ok? Hop in." And with a bark and one more face lick, he did it. Grinning, I threw a sandwich in, made sure there were proper air holes, and then shut the trunk.

I dragged everything onto the engine, and, as the first student to do so, I got to choose from all the empty compartments. I chose one at the very back, so that no one would bother me, and then went to sleep, figuring that the twins would find me well enough.

A few hours later, I woke up, but not in the way I would have liked. Someone kicked me, hard, and then I hit the ground, harder. After slurring a long string of swears, I sat up to glare at the perpetrator, who turned out to be Harry.

"Oy, little bro," I whined, a bit unnerved by the way he was trying to fry me with his insanely green eyes, "Missed you, too."

He continued to glower down at me, not saying a word, but breathing rather hotly. Immediately resorting to humor in an uncomfortable situation, I sort of began having a conversation entirely with myself, "Nice to see you Harry. _Nice to see you, too, Stella, darling._ How was your summer? _Just lovely, and yours?_ Oh, pretty shitty, but I won't bore you with the specifics. Looking forward to this year? _Definitely. Can't wait for quidditch season to start. We're taking the cup for sure!_ I don't doubt it, mate. You're brilliant on a broom. Just make sure Wood doesn't work you too hard, or else he'll have me to deal with. _No worries, Stel, but I'll be sure to give him a heads up, so just in case you ever come storming straight for him with that fierce look in your eyes, he'll know what it's about._ That's awfully nice of you, Harry, dear, but if you give him a warning, then it just won't be as effective. I like the element of surprise, you know? _Still, I think it's only fair to make sure the bloke understands what he's getting int-_"

"ENOUGH!" He finally shouted, breaking me out of my extremely awkward and strange rambling. His hair was messier than usual, and his face was bright red. He looked so mad, and I really didn't understand why, or even realize at that point that he was mad _at me_.

"What's on your mind, Frankenstein?" I questioned softly, almost sheepish as I saw his clenched fists trembling at his sides.

"You..." He growled, advancing menacingly, "You're _his daughter!_"

And then it clicked. "I suppose you mean Sirius Black," I muttered, dreading this conversation, and the fact that I already knew hot-headed Harry probably wasn't going to let me get a word in edgewise, and that even if I did manage to he wouldn't believe me.

"Yes!" He screamed, "Who the bloody hell else would I be talking about than the insane killer who's after me? All these years, you've been pretending to be my friend to make it easier for him to get to me, haven't you?"

"HEY!" I snapped, pissed at the accusation, finally hoisting myself up off from the ground and getting face to face with the raven-haired teen. I was much taller than him now, and there was a split second of shock in his expression as he had to adjust to glare up at me instead of down "I didn't _pretend_ anything!" I shouted, vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione in the doorway, "I _am_ your friend, and my dad isn't after you! He didn't kill anyone! He was _framed!_"

Clearly not expecting that kind of argument, the boy looked at me like I was entirely insane. "You're a bloody nutter!" He declared wildly, sputtering like a fish, "I always thought you were a bit off, but you are a complete _bloody nutter!_"

"No I am not!" I countered, scowling as I fished my key out of my shirt. For a brief moment, Harry seemed to forget all of his righteous indignation and took a quick peek at my cleavage. It calmed him down a bit, so I'm not complaining. Add "they pacify those with anger management issues" to the long list of reasons why having boobs rocks.

"See," I said, showing him the key, "I have proof. Or, I will, as soon as I find out what this opens."

Again, I got the nutter look, but then the boy got angry once more, and shouted right in my face, "YOU'RE INSANE! STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!" And then he stormed out.

I was left utterly, utterly shocked, and brokenhearted. He'd rejected me, finally, like I'd always feared, and the reality suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks: I was all alone. I'd alienated all the few family I had left. Tonks was gone. Remus was gone. Harry was gone. That was that.

Very slowly, shaking convulsively, I managed to close the compartment door, and shut the curtains, and cast the room into darkness. I opened my trunk, fished out a bottle of whiskey I'd stowed away, and then opened up to a different compartment to check on the dog. He was fine, sleeping soundly, and apparently having a dream where he was chasing something. So cute.

Assured that he was fine, I sat back onto the padded bench, and started drinking.

About a half hour later, I was still alone, and very drunk, and the train lurched to life with such force that I was almost thrown onto the floor once more. I was definitely past buzzed, but not quite as inebriated as I would've liked to be.

The door suddenly flew open, a dim beam of light falling across my eyes. I groaned, "Close the bloody fucking door, arsehole!"

"There's our little ray of sunshine!" The unmistakable voice of a twin joked excitedly just before I was pounced upon. The same voice coming from a different twin added, "We missed you soooooooo much!" And then I felt him jump on me, too.

"Missed you oafs as well," I grumbled, suddenly fighting a slightly giddy smile despite the fact that I still felt unbelievably depressed. The twins just have that power over me. However, it didn't last. They both suddenly tensed against my body, and sat up to give me hard, calculating looks. With the swish of a wand, the lights came on, and then there they both were.

Immediately, both sets of clear blue eyes went wide, and both their mouths dropped. "Stella," Fred gasped, kneeling beside me as he let his hand come up to cradle my thinned out face, "What happened, love?"

"You're a skeleton," George contributed, kneeling beside Fred, and purely in awe as he lightly ran his fingers over the exposed ridges of my ribs.

"Don't know what you're on about," I grumbled, lying back and bringing the bottle of whiskey to my lips for another long gulp. It's safe to say that the shocked looks got a lot more shocked looking. "Are you out of you mind?" Fred yelped, jumping up to shut the door of the compartment, which I'd neglected to notice was standing wide open, "Drinking on the train?"

With a shrug, I merely stated, "I drink everywhere else, so why the fuck not?" George gave an uncomfortable, forced little chuckle, but Fred glared at him, and it stopped in an instant. "This isn't funny," Fred growled, extremely serious as he ran his fingers through my longish, shaggy, gold blonde hair, "Love, you're a wreck. What's going on?"

"Bit of everything," I answered, sighing as I laid back and shut my eyes. I heard the boys moving about, and then found myself with my head in Fred's lap, and my legs lying across George's. "Talk to us," George suggested softly as he ran his hand up my calf.

"I can't go back home, Harry hates me, and, oh ya," I grumbled sarcastically, "My dad's still a fugitive." It was a horrible statement to make, but Fred's fingers combing softly through my hair felt very nice, nice enough to make me not notice when he gently tugged the whiskey bottle out of my hand and hid it in his own trunk. I was annoyed later when he wouldn't return it, but, at the time, nothing registered.

"Well, love," George finally reported, clearly trying to get me to cheer up and at a complete loss for what else to say, "I guess that just means we're about to have an interesting year." He was very tragically right.

xxXxx

I sat with the twins like that for several hours. We were all silent. They didn't know what to say to make me feel better, and I didn't know if there was anything they _could_ say. I was falling apart, caving in on myself because I felt utterly _hollow._ Something bad was on its way, and I didn't expect to survive it. I didn't necessarily want to die, but didn't anticipate lifting a finger to save myself if the day ever came when that would be needed.

About halfway into the journey, the train came to a sudden, abrupt halt. Still buzzed off the whiskey, I probably would've fallen on the floor again had the twins not caught me. Hmm, that reminds me, I should thank them for that...

"What's goin' on?" George asked groggily, cuing me in to the fact that he'd probably been at least half asleep. Fred, on the other hand, was wide awake, and wired, and declared, "Train's stopped."

"Thank you, captain obvious," I groaned, slowly getting to my feet. The lights snapped off, casting the compartment into complete darkness. I was still dizzy, and the two factors together made me feel totally disoriented. I swayed and almost fell, but Fred was right there behind me, steadying me with strong hands on my hips.

I looked at him over my shoulder, seeing him smile and blush in the dark, and I couldn't help but smile and blush back. It felt good like that.

Of course, if life has taught me one thing (aside from that nice boobs will get you whatever you want), it's that good will never last.

The room got cold. I could hear the glass on the windows freezing, a delicate crackle that sent shivers down my spine. Fred held me closer, but it didn't do very much good to chase away the chill and terror that were already taking hold of both our bodies. In the air in front of my face, I could see every breath either of us took hanging in a gray-on-black cloud of frost. I didn't know what was happening, but I was very scared of it all the same.

I would've preferred the door to fly open in one burst, to just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid, but, instead, the latch clicked with an excruciating slowness and the wood panel was slid open, inch by grating inch, to reveal nothing but a deep darkness of abyss beyond.

I could hear Fred breathing hard in my ear, but he was gradually drowned out by the sounds of ragged, inhuman... creatures. Creatures in the dark. Of the Dark.

I really wanted to believe that I was hallucinating, or just having a bad dream, but Fred felt so real that I knew that that wasn't the case.

I think I whimpered like a frightened animal as I felt the first of them float into the compartment, black-hooded, skeletal wraiths with ink-blood fog seeping out from beneath their shredded cloaks. My ankles disappeared in the darker than dark, blood of the dark fog. They felt numb, but I could still sense every bit of good left in my wretched body being sucked on, hot marrow being stripped from my bones while I still lived and breathed, while the fog crept higher.

Blood pounding in my temples erased all other sound. The numbness negated Fred's caring touch. He didn't feel real anymore. Nothing did. Breathing no longer seemed important. The fog entered my lungs and stayed. There was a cold, corpse-like claw on my throat.

I might just be strange, but it wasn't entirely bad, almost a high: an opiate in my system that fed off me, that sent me soaring into the darkness even as it damaged everything that I was. I knew the creatures were hurting me, feeding off me and poisoning me at the same time. I felt cold. I didn't care. There was darkness inside me long before that moment, a little chipped spot where a seed of it had taken root, and it was suddenly spreading through my hollow insides like a rabid, flesh-eating virus. My pupils blew to black circles that erased the color in my eyes, and I could feel my skull pulsating. The darkness took me. I fell slow into it, both bitter and sugary, like molasses, and I welcomed its cold embrace. For a long, long time, there was nothing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Well, sports fans, hope you liked it.

The Surgeon General recommends writing five to ten reviews a day in order to improve colon health.


	5. The First Law of Gravity

Part 5 - The First Law of Gravity

There was sugar, in my mouth, without a hint of darkness' bitter. My breathing was slow. Too slow. I was dizzy and felt like I was still spinning through the nothingness despite that fact that I knew I was completely still, that there was finally something there.

Soft cushions beneath my body.

Tender touches on my face.

Gentle words of comfort.

I wanted to cry, and not from relief.

I didn't have to open my eyes; they'd been open the entire time, wide and fixed, unseeing. They were dry and shriveled. I slowly faded back into myself, and light in the train compartment was too much, so much that it hurt. Where was the comforting nothingness of the dark? I liked it, the overwhelming, consuming high, not having to worry or be scared, just floating in the numb. I wanted that feeling back. I wanted it like a hopeless junkie.

"Oh god, Stella!"

Hearing hurt, too, sounds razoring a line between my ears, but my vocal cords were completely paralyzed. I couldn't even scream for the voices to shut up and to leave me alone.

"Please, wake up," One of them pleaded, the tenderness touching my face all the more tender, caring, loving. I wanted to cry, and not from happiness.

"Stella, please," I was fighting my way back, but didn't understand why. I didn't want it. I didn't want my life anymore. I was ready to let go of it. Something was pulling me though. Someone. Some feeling that I didn't understand.

"What?" I gasped, my voice so small and weak that it was almost like the nothingness I'd almost let overtake me. My saccharine tongue felt swollen and thick and clumsy.

Someone else's hot sigh of relief washed over me, and before I could say anything more, another lump of the pure sugary taste was shoved into my mouth. I choked hard. No more breath came. I waited, bug-eyed, convulsing in shock and silence. I waited as the thick sweetness melted down my throat and smothered the darkness back into its little chipped niche. It would stay there, the darkness, lurking and festering until the next time I was weak enough to let it consume me. In that moment, we both longed for when such a time would come.

"Stella, god, please, answer me!" Reality hit like a slap in the face. I was conscious. I was alive. The train was moving. The compartment was bright. Fred and George were hovering over me, though I was unsure which was which. Usually I can tell.

"What happened?" I sobbed, weighed down by the utter revulsion I felt just from continuing to exist.

I saw both twins' expressions soften, and George, I think, shakily lied, "Just a faint, love. Nothing to worry about. Eat more chocolate."

"Don't want chocolate," I moaned, still unable to get my eyes to close even though the light was hurting them terribly, "Stop lying to me. What happened?"

The boys shared one of their _Looks_, which irritated me to no end. I really hate when they do that. Finally, Fred locked eyes with me and stated, "Dementors. They were searching the train for your dad."

"Went right for you," George added, putting a hand on my bare knee, "Guess they must've sensed a little of him in you, eh?"

"Hoorah," I grumbled, too drained to even move. The twins quickly fed me another chunk of chocolate. When I sputtered, and whimpered, and tried to spit it out, George held his hand over my mouth until it melted and I'd swallowed it all. They continued the same process several times, taking advantage of my weakness to force me into getting better.

"Guys, stop it!" I finally shrieked, crying in frustration by that time, strong enough to try to shove them off, but still too frail to actually succeed. It was a terrible sensation.

Fred gave me a very stern look, insisting, "Dementors are bad news, and you've had a really severe reaction to them. We have to keep you well until we get to school, and then you're going straight to the hospital wing."

"Like hell," I growled, trying to kick and punch my way free. It didn't work. "Love, please, just relax," George soothed, effortlessly pinning me back into the seat, "You're gonna make yourself worse. Lie down, and let us take care of you."

"Is everything alright in here?" A low voice called into the compartment. My crying had gotten so bad that I'd begun to hiccup and choke, so I couldn't scream for him to get the twins off me. The pair of redheads answered instead, George grumbling an unpleasant, "No, not really," and Fred, just as upset, adding, "Fucking dementors attacked Stella."

"You give her chocolate?" The voice, definitely a male one, inquired as I heard its owner step into the compartment. The twins must've given some sign that they had because the newcomer gave a thoughtful hum, and then leaned over me, carefully feeling my forehead. His hand was rough, but cool.

"She's burning up," He reported, his blurry face hovering in the air above mine. He was a brunette. That's all I could tell. "Pupils are dilated, too," The boy went on, "I heard there's a professor somewhere on the train. I'll go see if I can find him, get him to come look at her, ya?"

"Thanks, Wood," The twins chimed in unison. So it was Oliver Wood, seventh year Gryffindor quidditch captain. Like almost everyone else at school, he'd never really talked to me before. However, I made a mental note to thank him later for his concern.

In just a few short minutes, I heard Wood rush back, and he'd brought a little friend along. When I first saw the teacher's face, I thought I was hallucinating. I hoped I was hallucinating.

"Stella?" Damn. No such luck. What the hell was Remus doing on the train? Was he really crazy enough to follow me to school just because I'd been giving him the cold shoulder? Apparently, yes. "Stella?" My harried uncle pressed, sounding on the verge of panic, "Can you hear me?"

"Go away, Remus," I demanded, swatting his hands away from my face. I didn't do it quickly enough though because he managed to feel the unusual temperature Wood mentioned earlier. "Good heavens!" The man gasped, "You're right! She's got a high fever! I've never heard of anyone reacting to dementors like this!"

"Go away, Remus," I insisted once more, actually starting to feel a little delirious. It scared me, and I suddenly found myself in the grips of an extreme wave of paranoia. Nearly out of my mind with thoughts of danger and persecution from the people surrounding me, I summoned the strength to force myself up and away from them.

I backed jerkily into the hallway, shrieking, "STAY AWAY FROM ME! ALL OF YOU! I WON'T LET YOU GET ME!"

"Stella," Fred seemed to be the first one to understand that I was freaking out, and he advanced very slowly towards me as he said, "Stella, look at me. Just look at me, love."

I was breathing hard, and swaying on the spot, but still managed to do as my friend asked. He was one of the few (actually, just two) people I trusted at that time, and, even in the grips of the attack, I still felt safe with him. Our eyes locked, his so clear, and open, and blue.

"Listen to me," He soothed, getting closer, just an arm's length away, "No one's going to hurt you. I'm not going to let them. Take a deep breath, and just try to relax."

I really did try, and it really did work, but as soon as the fear left me, I got weak again. My eyes rolled back into my head. My body went limp. I fell into Fred's arms.

"Freddie," I whispered softly into his ear, barely hanging onto consciousness, "When we get to Hogwarts, let the dog out of my trunk." I don't remember much after that.

xxXxx

I spent the following week in the hospital wing, completely out of my mind, delirious with a high, unexplainable fever. I only remember brief snatches of lucidity...

...Remus bathing my forehead with a cool washcloth...

...George doing his homework on my stomach...

...Fred holding my hand and whispering soft words of comfort as he brushed sweat-soaked tendrils of hair out of my eyes...

No one knew quite what was wrong with me, just that it must've had something to do with the dementor attack. My theory is that whatever darkness those creatures woke inside me was acting like an infection, and my body's natural reaction was to try to burn it away. It's a basic concept of immunology. Good thing I read that anatomy textbook the year before, huh?

The hospital wing was dark when I finally woke, and I got scared. I tried to sit up, but was hit right away by a wave of dizziness so had to lie back down.

My movement woke Fred, who was asleep in the cot beside mine. Apparently, he'd been sneaking into the hospital wing every night just to do so.

"Stella?" He questioned, groggy but hopeful, "Are you awake?"

"Mhmm," I hummed, trying hard to keep my eyes open, wiped out from the effort of my brief success, "What's goin' on?"

He sat down at my side, carefully sweeping my bangs out of my eyes, a gesture I was becoming very accustomed to from him. "You're ill," The boy stated quietly, keeping his voice a gentle whisper, "You've been in the hospital wing for the last week with a fever."

That made sense, and definitely correlated to the way I was feeling. I nodded, barely able to keep myself awake. "Rest, love," Fred instructed sweetly, "Get your strength up, so that you can get out of this place. I miss seeing your pretty smile all around the castle."

"Flatterer," I laughed breathlessly, letting my eyes drift shut as I felt his hand slip into mine and give a strong, comforting squeeze. On the verge of sleep again, I only had one thing on my mind, "Fred?"

"Yes, love?" He responded, softly stroking my knuckles. I swallowed thickly, gripping his hand a little tighter as I asked, "Please, don't leave me. I-I'm scared the dark will come back. I liked it too much."

I could tell just from his brief silence that he was confused by my remark, but, nevertheless, agreed, "Of course. I'll be right here. Relax, and go back to sleep."

"Thanks, Freddie," I breathed, already halfway there, "I love you."

Another very long pause followed. Fred probably thought I was asleep by the time he answered very seriously, "I... I love you, too, Stel..."

xxXxx

I was released a few days later, after having to suffer through many force feedings of disgusting potions meant to make me better.

I exited the hospital wing with a twin flanking me on either side. Both of them had their arms around my shoulders, and they were chattering a mile a minute. I wasn't paying too much attention; I was more concerned with the way I was getting stared at by everyone in the entrance hall.

"Why the hell are they all gawking?" I whispered to the twins, a bit uncomfortable from just having passed by Adrian Pucey and gotten the distinct impression that he was undressing me with his eyes.

Chuckling, George gave my still bony ribs a pinch, and answered, "I think they're trying to figure out who our hot new friend is, and whether or not they stand a chance with her."

I frowned, musing out loud, "I don't look _that_ different... do I?"

Before the twins could answer me, we were all distracted by a voice from behind us shouting our names. We turned to find Oliver Wood running towards us down the hallway. "Hey, mates," He greeted brightly when he arrived.

"Hiya, Captain," The twins chimed together, giving a pair of exaggerated, perfectly-timed salutes that made me giggle. My giggle drew Oliver's attention, and he grinned the charming grin half the females in the school openly swooned over as he stated sweetly, "Hi, Stella. Glad you're feeling better."

"Thanks," I answered, smiling politely, but teasingly, "Me too."

Wood was good looking, and smart, and athletic, and charismatic, and popular, and obviously not used to talking to females who didn't fall at his feet at the first sign of his dimples. My response shocked him, but the seventh year hid it quickly, clearing his throat as he inquired, "So, what classes are you all heading off to?"

In unison, the twins sighed, "Herbology." Since there's little chance of things randomly blowing up in that class, it's tied with History of Magic as the twins' least favorite, even behind Potions. I gave both boys a soothing pat to the head, cooing, "Aw, poor dears, but I'd rather talk to a shrub than sit through an hour of Binns."

"Haha," Oliver chuckled, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair as his dark eyes sparkled, "I know what you mean. History is boring."

I arched an eyebrow at the boy, correcting bluntly, "Actually, I quite like History. Binns' lack of enthusiasm for the subject irritates me." Seeming thoroughly chastised, and just a bit embarrassed, Oliver turned a little pink in the cheeks, and looked uncomfortably at the floor.

"Well," Fred stated, giving the older boy a suspicious glance before turning to smile at me, "We'd best be off. Sprout's a beast about lateness." He leaned over and brushed a chaste little kiss on my cheek, adding, "See you at lunch, love."

"Ya," George contributed, tugging me over for a big, wet smooch on the opposite side, "We need to go about putting some meat on that scrawny little arse of yours."

"Hey," I protested, laughing as I gave each of the twins a sharp pinch on his behind, "It's not my fault I'm not quite as well-endowed as you two." They squeaked adorably, shooting me looks that clearly said they were already thinking of ways to make me pay for making them squeak adorably, as well as implying that they had big arses. I turned and sauntered away, laughing over my shoulder, "Bye, boys. Don't cause too much trouble without me."

I almost didn't notice Oliver follow, but he did, and was walking along at my side, watching me with a bright grin on his face. "Um," I drawled, not halting, or altering my pace, "Something I can help you with, _Captain?_"

Again, he blushed slightly, continuing to smile as he ran a nervous hand through his hair and answered, "No, not really. My class is just this way, so I thought I'd walk with you, if you don't mind."

"Guess it couldn't hurt," I said, shrugging. We lapsed into silence for awhile, but Oliver finally questioned, "So, how was your summer?"

"Awful," I answered bluntly, giving him a look that clearly said I didn't want to talk about it. He caught on, quickly changing the subject, "Well, er, do you like quidditch?"

"Ya, sure," I said, relaxing a bit as I smiled over at him, "I'm not all that good, but games are always fun to watch."

"You catch the Canons-Puddlemere one on the wireless last week?" He asked, definitely excited to have our conversation focused on quidditch-related theme. "No," I answered brightly, "Who won?"

"Puddlemere, by a long shot," The boy went on, obviously proud, "No one stands a chance against their offense..." He then proceeded to relate to me, in _excruciating_ detail, the stats for the entire starting line-up of the Puddlemere bench. He probably would've continued onto the second string had we not finally arrived at Binns' classroom.

"Well," I cut him off, turning to smile just outside the door, "I've got to get in. Um, nice talking to you... bye." I fled before he could answer, and took a seat near the front of the room, relieved to get away. Oliver was a nice guy, but he'd completely ignored me up until then. His sudden interest was unnerving, and I was fairly certain it was only because I'd gotten hot. I didn't want friends like that. I didn't need them.

Of course, I didn't have too much time to dwell on it because Cormac McLaggen, a tall Gryffindor with wiry black hair, who was in my year, sat down on my right, and his little sidekick, blonde, skinny, equally slimy Ravenclaw, Eddie Carmichael, sat down on my left. They both leaned in and tried to strike up a conversation. They were under the impression that I was new, and offered to "show me around."

Any school year that starts off with that much annoyance cannot be a good one.

xxXxx

"I bet her boobs are fake!"

"I bet she's an anorexic!"

"I bet she's not even a real blonde!"

Ah, jealousy, the music of the insecure and ignorant, how it graced my ears. Two of my dorm mates, Wendy Hawthorne and Abigail Voorhees, who had pretty much completely ignored me up until that point, were suddenly very concerned with every little thing I did. I couldn't walk into my room, or even pretend to be sleeping without hearing them start to gossip.

Seriously, I could give them anorexia, I still wasn't eating unless one or both of the twins nagged me to do so, and maybe even the fake boobs accusation because they were too good to be true (even though they totally were, ha), but they'd known me for _four years._ How could they think I wasn't a real blonde? That is just stupidity.

I don't think they realized I was there because they jumped nearly a foot when I threw back the curtains for my four poster, grabbed my books, and stood to leave. Wendy, a pudgy little brunette A-cup with bad teeth and acne, looked uncomfortably at her feet while Abigail, who I affectionately liked to refer to as Jason, because she had a boyish physique and both her personality and face reminded me of Jason Voorhees from the Halloween movies, glared like it was my fault I'd caught them talking about me.

"What are _you_ doing in here?" Jason snapped, her auburn bowl cut falling in her beady green eyes. I jutted my hip out, and, since I'd gotten so much taller than her over the summer, glared down as I answered flatly, "I _live_ here."

Wendy tugged on Jason's arm, looking embarrassed and just a bit fearful as she hissed, "Don't make her mad." Jason rolled her eyes, answering frankly, "You're such a wimp! Her dad can't get into the castle, so she's not gonna sick him on us!"

"Wow," I muttered sarcastically, shoving in between the pair, "I thought you needed a permit to be that fucking stupid."

"You can't talk to us like that!" Jason screeched after me down the staircase, stomping her foot like a pissy little boy. I smiled over my shoulder, responding, "I believe I just did." Just to be evil, I blew her a kiss, too. "I'M TELLING MCGONOGALL!" She shouted, but I really failed to care. It was just barely a month into the school year, and I'd already been in trouble more times than I can remember. One more detention and "play nice with the dumbarses" lecture wasn't going to kill me.

I was a leper. If I thought people avoided me before, it was nothing compared to how they dove out of my path that year. Well, most of them anyways.

After my little encounter with Jason and her tubby sidekick, I instinctively wanted the twins, but, as soon as I reached the common room, remembered that they were off having an evening quidditch meeting, "discussing tactics," as Wood called it. Pouting slightly to myself, I took a seat on a couch by the fire, to finish my homework and wait for them to come back. A ten foot radius of space opened up around me. I couldn't do anything but sigh. I was tragically used to it.

But after only a few minutes the couch sagged with the tell-tale weight of someone taking a seat beside me, and I looked up to find that it was Cormac. I just barely kept from rolling my eyes.

"Evening," He greeted, smiling pleasantly, "What are you up to, love?"

"Charms homework," I stated, keeping my answers to as few words as possible in order to not encourage conversation. It didn't work. "Oh," He said, leaning over my parchment, "I finished mine earlier. I can help, if you want. I'm the top of our class, you know."

A throbbing headache was developing behind my eyes. I wanted a goddamn drink. Fred and George had kept me sober for a whole miserable month, and sobriety and idiots just _do not mix._ Like oil and water, for serious.

"No," I responded curtly, trying very, _very_ hard to keep myself from being unnecessarily nasty (not because I cared about being nice, but because I knew that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop), "No, you're not. _I_ am. _I'm_ the top of our class. You tried to _cheat_ off _my_ Charms exam at the end of last year, _remember?_"

The boy suddenly looked outraged, bellowing, "I did not!" I could not take anymore of him, and rolled my eyes, getting to my feet as I conceded weakly, "Fine, you didn't. Whatever. I don't care." My head hurt. I needed a goddamn drink. I turned towards the boys' staircase, and the crowd parted. I was like Moses at the Red Sea, except the Israelites thought I was a fake-boob-having, bottle-blonde, anorexic mental patient, and they refused to follow me to the Promised Land. Fucking morons, they deserve the forty years of wandering. I hope they all get sunburns and sand in their knickers.

I walked the aisle slowly, quietly, and looked over my shoulder just in time to watch it fill in, the walls of water crashing back together with such a docile ripple that I wanted to scream just to scream, to make noise and escape the crushing isolation of silence.

Upstairs, I found the twins' dorm deserted. I was just going to sit on one of their beds, do my homework while I waited for them to come back, but Fred's trunk was open. I wanted my whiskey. He'd taken it from me on the train and hidden it, and I wanted it back. I'm not proud of myself, but I went through his trunk.

And found nothing.

In a bit of a frenzy, the headache making me frustrated and irrational, I then went through George's trunk. While he didn't have my whiskey either, he did have the Marauders' Map.

I was halfway to Hogsmeade in under five minutes, and half drunk in under fifteen. The numbness of alcohol was such a relief after having gone so long without that I may have overdone it.

I don't remember much of that evening aside from getting hit on a lot. By the time last call came around, I was barely able to stand on my own, and got literally thrown out of the Hog's Head. I wasn't too bothered, and brushed off, and began to stumble towards the passage that would take me back to the castle. My dog, who had been freely roaming Hogsmeade and the forest, turned up and trotted beside me. He was whining, and butting me with his head, and I quickly got annoyed.

"What?" I slurred, scowling down into his big, blue-gray eyes, "You're not gonna try to convince me I have a _problem_, too, are you? Get 'nuffa that from the twinses..."

All I got in reply was another whine, but then his ears perked up, and he glance away down an alley. After only a few moments of staring into the dark, he growled menacingly, bit the corner of my skirt, and began trying to drag me away.

I was confused, so I let myself be pulled, but we only got a few feet before I looked over my shoulder to see a shadowed figure emerge from the dark and begin following me down the street. There was nothing really sinister about him, aside from that I couldn't see his face, but he scared me. A stranger from a dark alley following a drunk blonde in the middle of the night was like every horror movie I'd ever seen. I started to back away.

But he was closing in quickly, hood down and shoulders set, and I couldn't seem to move fast enough. I was disoriented, and terrified, and just _frozen_. Luckily, the dog jumped in between me and the stranger, baring his teeth and growling like a feral wolf. The action finally snapped me out of my daze, and I turned, and I ran.

I heard a curse, kick, and whine, and looked over my shoulder to see that the stranger had used his wand on the dog, then kicked it out of his way, and then taken off after me. I was drunk, and it wasn't a fair fight.

The man caught me barely three buildings down, and all but tackled me into another alley. I was slammed against a brick wall, the wind knocked out of me and the back of my skull thumped painfully as I struggled in vain with the heavy force keeping me pinned. I still couldn't see a face, but I remember he had sour breath, like he'd eaten something sweet days ago and hadn't brushed his teeth since. It was disgusting.

Before I could scream, his hands closed around my throat, squeezing all the air from me with a clumsy, inept amateurism I probably would've found comical had my eyes not been bulging out of their sockets for lack of air. Scratching and kicking, I desperately fought to get free, but it was no use. After mere seconds, my vision was already turning dim and fuzzy. Resigned to death, I decided that I at least wanted to look into the eyes of my murderer, and used the last of my strength to shove away his hood.

Pale, beady eyes stared back at me as thin lips parted to reveal crooked buckteeth deep in flabby jowls. A balding, age-spotted skull shed white, greasy flakes of skin onto me as the fat hanging from his chin jiggled like jelly. He was older, but unmistakable; he was Peter Pettigrew and he was trying to kill me.

"Where are they?" He simpered, sounding so weak and wimpy that I suddenly realized how embarrassing it was going to be to have to tell people in heaven how I died. Oh god, I was going to spend eternity in the loser-death section! There are fates worse than hell!

"Where are the negatives?" He demanded urgently, continuing to choke me with a surprising amount of force for such an extremely fat man. I could feel the walls of my windpipe touching, and, in my oxygen-starved haze, had no idea what he was talking about.

But then, just like that, he let go, dropping me onto the ground with a scream. Coughing violently, my throat nothing but a raw burn, I lay in a puddle and just struggled to stay conscious, my whole body convulsing from the effort. When I finally looked up, I saw that the dog was my rescuer, and he was biting and wrestling with Pettigrew just a few feet away from me. They rolled into a pile of garbage, and I just watched in blank shock as it shook with the sounds of screams and growls.

And then it stopped. And I got afraid again. And the alley was still and tense.

And then I felt something crawling on my legs. I looked down. It was a rat. A goddamn rat. I am so terrified of rats that it's not even funny, and one was _touching me_.

The blood curdling scream that left my mouth probably could've been heard for hundreds of miles, and I broke three nails kicking and dragging myself away along the stones of the alleyway in an attempt to escape the filthy rodent. Lights came on in the buildings all around me, and I heard windows opening. Some people yelled at me to shut up, others asked what was going on, if I was alright, but none of it mattered.

The dog was also drawn by my screaming, and took off running after the rat as it finally scampered its way off my bare legs. Both animals were gone in an instant. Sobbing hysterically, not even caring anymore about getting caught, I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and didn't stop running until a group of three storekeepers in their bathrobes finally grabbed me. It took them a half hour to finally make me calm down enough to be coherent, and then only another five to contact the school to tell them to come collect their resident lunatic.

xxXxx

"I'm not making it up!" I insisted, my voice hoarse, gravely, and painful. If you thought my views about other people's brainpower were cynical before, you have another thing coming.

Sitting in the hospital wing, bruised, bloody, barely able to breathe, I became absolutely certain that everyone else on the planet was a total moron. You can give up the search for intelligent life forms, folks. If I can't find any on earth, then there's certainly no hope of finding any elsewhere.

With a deep sigh, Remus massaged his temples and muttered sternly, "I'm not saying you're making it up. I'm saying you didn't see what you thought you saw. You were extremely _inebriated_-"

"Drunk," I cut him off angrily, "I was piss drunk. That doesn't mean my eyes weren't working. It was _Peter!_ Stop trying to convince me it wasn't and go look for him! Every second we sit here is another in his head start!"

"Stella, enough!" He shouted, jumping to his feet, "Peter is _dead!_ Someone very alive attacked you, and I need to know who!"

Glaring, I stated slowly, "It was _Peter Pettigrew_. You can't bully me into saying something different just because you don't like the answer." With a frustrated groan, my uncle threw his hands towards the ceiling, and then began to pace. After a few minutes of tense silence, he finally stopped, looked me straight in the eye, and asked, "Was it Sirius? Was it your father? Are you trying to protect him?"

That was the absolute _last_ straw. No longer caring that he was my uncle, and a teacher, and that I loved him very much, I stood and punched him square in the jaw.

He didn't look as shocked as I thought he would, not even when I flipped him off and stormed out. No thought of regret ever entered my mind.

It was still very early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up yet, and I already knew the day was going to be a long one. I was hungover, tired, and sore. I was going to get stared at because of the ring of bruises around my neck, and I was going to have to serve the first of my month of detentions until well past midnight (I was being punished for breaking curfew, leaving campus, and underage drinking).

And then there was the fact that _no one_ believed who attacked me, not Pomfrey, not Remus, not even Dumbledore.

I was scared. Utterly terrified. A raw pile of shaking nerves. Someone had just tired to _kill me,_ and it felt like no one cared. It was too much to handle all at once. I was... I was...

I was sniffling quietly at the top of the fourth floor staircase. On my way back to the Tower, the fear and frustration had finally gotten to me, and I'd collapsed, and couldn't get up, and couldn't stop crying.

Percy Weasley was the head boy that year. I didn't know him very well, just that he was the twins' older brother, and that they thought he was a bit of a tight arse. He was the last person I expected to come to my aid.

"Excuse me," He approached cautiously, gently placing a hand on my trembling shoulder, "Are you alright?"

Still jumpy, I cringed away from the touch, looking up with bleary eyes into a redheaded, freckled blur. For a minute, I thought it was a twin, and was relieved, but the voice didn't match, and I was disappointed again.

"Oh, Merlin, what happened? You look like hell!" He gasped, only escaping a smack because I still couldn't see straight. His face swam into focus just as he was insisting, "Here, let me take you to the hospital wing!"

"I was just there," I said, pushing him off, trying and failing to stop sniveling like a toddler who'd skinned her knees, "I was just there. I'm fine. I don't need to go back."

The bespectacled lad gave me a strange looking, watching closely for a few moments before putting an arm around my shoulders and offering politely, "Well, can I... um, take you back to the Tower? You might feel better if you lie down."

I didn't expect the kindness. It took me completely off guard, and I probably seemed like an idiot, staring blankly like I did. But I needed that, someone being nice to me. After what I went through, after the way I'd been treated by everyone I'd come into contact with in the last twelve hours or so, I needed to know that someone still cared.

I definitely didn't expect to suddenly latch onto the poor boy and begin bawling into his gray, hand-knit sweater. From the tenseness and stuttering, I don't think he expected it either.

About ten extremely awkward minutes later, Percy was finally helping me step through the portrait hole, and, surprisingly, he was still letting me cry onto him, as well as still attempting to comfort me with stiff little pats on the back. Considering who it was, the gesture was really sweet.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO STELLA?" A small, female voice screeched shrilly as Percy was helping me sit down on one of the couches. Rubbing my eyes and sniffling, I looked up to see little Ginny Weasley running down the stairs with an expression of pure horror on her freckled face. "PERCY!" She yelped, sitting down beside me, throwing her spindly arms around my body, "FRED AND GEORGE ARE GONNA KILL YOU!"

Ginny was always kind of attached to me. She's a cute little thing, and Fred and George are her favorite brothers, so, naturally, as their best friend, I became one of her favorite people. Plus, I think she was a bit lacking on female friends (friends in general, after the Chamber of Secrets business), so seized any she could get her hands on.

"Stella," She cooed softly, pulling me nearly horizontal in order to put my head onto her shoulder, "What happened?"

I sniffed, trying to stop shivering uncontrollably as I wiped the tears out of my eyes and answered, "I'm ok, Gin. I-I just had a rough night is all. I'll be ok."

The redheaded fireball eyed me skeptically, pressing, "Are you sure? You're all... beat up."

Still trying to get composed, I gently extracted myself from her arms, smiling weakly and stating, "Don't worry about me, hun. I'm gonna take a shower and be all better."

"But..." She started to argue, her brown eyes filled with concern. However she couldn't come up with anything, and left me to just wander up the stairs, trying to stifle my sobs.

xxXxx

The twins were waiting to pounce on me when I finally came back down a few hours later. As soon as I stepped into the common room, I was wrapped tightly in two identical sets of arms.

"Ginny said you were hurt!"

"And crying!"

"What happened?"

"Was it Percy?"

"We'll kill the git if he did anything to you!"

"Talk to us, love!"

Just hearing their lightning fast back and forth was enough to almost make me weep from sheer joy. I love both those boys so much...

"Guys," I choked, my voice still hoarse and absolutely terrible sounding, "I'm fine. I just... ran into a little trouble."

Cuddling me from behind, George inquired, "What's wrong with your voice?"

Fred, who was in front, finally looked up, and his blue eyes went wide, shifting from stunned to furious in under a second. George saw a second later. Hesitantly, Fred's hand came up, tenderly brushing my hair away from the bruises as he demanded, "Who did this to you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," I muttered, unable to meet his eyes, "Maybe later, ok?" Both twins nodded slowly, and I could read the thoughts of murder on their faces.

"Excuse me," Hermione Granger hummed politely, trying to navigate past us with her nose in a book. Stepping aside, I smiled, greeting, "Sorry. What are you reading, love?"

I was previously on reasonably friendly terms with the girl, but now that Harry hated me, I could tell she'd grown uncomfortable with interaction. Still, she answered genially, "_Hogwarts, a History_."

"Again?" I teased, smirking wickedly. "Yes," The brunette stated, turning a little pink, "It's interesting. Like, did you know that Helga Hufflepuff was narcoleptic?"

Blink. BlinkBlink. Random much? "No," I responded flatly, "I did not know that." My life was getting dreamlike. Reality didn't seem all that real anymore. Maybe I wasn't awake...

"Yes," Hermione chirped happily, oblivious to my break with reality, "She had a bout of it once that resulted in a fall from the eleventh floor landing. She would have been killed for sure if Godric Gryffindor hadn't been there to save her magically. After that, the founders put charms on the castle so that it would catch her if she ever fell again. It was impossible to fall from anywhere high up and not be stopped by magic a foot from the ground."

"Really?" I questioned, suddenly intrigued. It was so unreal. "Uh huh," Hermione went on, distracted once more by her reading. "Are they still operational?" I inquired, for some reason extremely fixated on the idea, a really strange, stupid plan running through my head. Shrugging, she answered, "I assume so, but I have no idea. They would be hundreds of years old."

"Hmmm," Was all I could come up with, turning and walking out of the room in a daze. The twins followed me all the way up to the eleventh floor.

The first law of gravity: "whatever goes up must come down." It is an inherently pessimistic law. To me, it translates to "nothing good will ever last," "happiness will always become sadness," and "no matter what, you're fucking doomed."

Hermione's random factoid was a glimmer of hope that I had to seize. I had to prove that the first law of gravity didn't apply to me. It was extremely risky. If the twisted hope I'd fixated on didn't exist I'd die, but, then again, if it didn't exist did I really want to live?

That's why I wasn't afraid to climb the ledge, to stare down from my dizzying height. The twins were screaming, but I had no fear. I closed my eyes. I let myself fall.

It was fast, and loud, and the biggest fucking rush I'd ever felt. I couldn't hear anything at all over the wind, or the pounding of my own heart. My world was a blur of color and sound and air and plummeting.

_LubDub_TenthFloor_LubDub_EightFloor_LubDub_SixthFloor_LubDub_FourthFloor_LubDub_SecondFloor_LubDub_

When I came to an instant halt with my nose about a half foot from the stones of the entry hall, I couldn't stop laughing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heh. Too odd? Just odd enough? Let me know!

Studies show reviewing is five times more effective than Rogaine for preventing hair loss!


	6. My Tentative Hold on Sanity

Part 6 - My Tentative Hold on Sanity

The title says it all. I was cracked. Crazy. Unwell. Imbalanced. Take your fucking pick, cuz I was called all that and more.

After my little base jumping incident, I laughed my way through an entire day of getting screamed at by everyone. The twins were shaken. Uncle Remus was horrified. McGonogall was furious. Dumbledore psychoanalyzed me. That was scary. All his ink blots looked like demonic rodents who were going to jump out of the cards and kill me, and he seemed very disturbed when I told him so.

And, once again, no one wanted to believe a word that came out of my mouth. I tell them my dad is innocent, they tell me I'm in denial. I tell them Peter Pettigrew attacked me in an alley, they tell me I'm a drunk with a wild imagination. I tell them I didn't try to kill myself, they tell me I need therapy.

"Why?" I demanded, glaring across Dumbledore's desk at him, sucking on a handful of lemon drops even though I hate lemon drops. I'm a chocolate girl, all the way.

My amateur, wannabe psychiatrist gave me a very concerned look, stating softly, "Because we only want to help you. Your actions suggest you are not well."

Rolling my eyes, I asserted hotly, "I told you guys already, I wasn't trying to kill myself! That's just stupid! Helga Hufflepuff was narcoleptic! It was a history experiment! Just ask that little big-haired girl! Why won't anyone listen?"

"Tell me about your mother," Dumbledore instructed, his voice quiet but stern, blue eyes wet behind half-moon glasses. I stared blankly, gaping, "You can't be serious."

He was.

Therapy with the headmaster.

Fuck.

xxXxx

I'd abused the Marauders' Map, and, to the twins, that was like breaking the holiest of commandments. It was sacrilege. They started looking for ways to safeguard its powers from me.

Halloween was the first time I became suspicious of the plan. After a few weeks of complete sobriety, therapy with Dumbledore, and getting pestered by fucking _everyone_, I was ready for a break. Using the holiday as an excuse, I suggested we all sneak into Hogsmeade that night for some fun.

"Stella," Fred sighed, nervously threading his fingers through his hair, "No. That's not a good idea."

Pouting, I pleaded sweetly, "Aw, come on, Freddie. It'll be really easy, and we'll have a blast! You, me, Georgie, general merriment."

He glared. He'd been upset since the jumping thing, as well as the sneaking off to get drunk thing, the not talking about it thing, and the going through his stuff thing. His anger had been festering. It blew up. "No, you mean you and another bottle of rum, right?" He demanded, pushing me away from him and storming into the Great Hall for breakfast. I was stunned. Fred _never_ talked to me like that.

Hardly believing that he'd just said that to me, that he'd _acted_ that way to me after being nothing but kind and funny for all the years I'd known him, I turned to George for an explanation. The other twin shrugged, muttering, "Sorry, love. He doesn't mean it. He's just worried about you... we both are."

"I'm fine," I hissed through clenched teeth. I was getting so sick of those two words.

"I'm sick of hearing that from you," Occasionally I can't help but wonder if that boy has some sort of ESP, "Especially when I know it's a lie."

Having people who know me well enough to read me like a book is sometimes a curse. I sighed, letting my head drop to his shoulder as I muttered, "George, I love you, and Fred, but I don't think either of you really understands this anymore."

"That's because you won't give us a chance to," He soothed, putting a hand at the small of my back, "You don't talk to us, love. You still haven't told us who attacked you, or why you... jumped..." I closed my eyes, responding, "I know. I'm sorry... I guess I'm just afraid you'll suddenly decide to be like all the other idiots in this place and not believe me. I don't think I could handle that."

"We're _allowed_ to not believe you?" The redhead asked with a joking incredulity that gave me a totally eerie sense of deja vu. Hadn't I had this exact conversation before?...

Smacking him lightly, I laughed as he guided me to sit beside him at the Gryffindor table. We were both across from Fred, who was very busy scowling into his porridge.

I cleared my throat to get his attention, then gave a watery smile, offering, "So, darling, what do you want for Halloween?"

After fixing me with a curious look for a few moments, he finally caught on, whispering seriously, "I want you not to drink so much, and to talk to us about what's bothering you."

"Ok," I responded instantly, "You got it." Fred's excited smile made me feel really good for the first time in quite a few months. "Really?" He pressed, a little skeptical. When I nodded, he grinned, then frowned and added, "No more jumping off of stuff, either."

"Aw, come on," I teased, "I've already established that the charm still works, so what's the big deal?" His blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and he growled, "Because you didn't tell us you were testing a charm. I thought you... I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't take watching it again."

The joke suddenly wasn't funny anymore. I hadn't realized that Fred was so deeply upset over what happened. With a sheepish smile, I agreed, "Ok. I promise." He nodded, and looked back down into his porridge, but I wasn't quite finished. "Fred," I stated, getting his attention again before adding sadly, sincerely, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I wasn't... I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I just wasn't thinking straight, you know? Near death does strange things to a girl."

Both twins narrowed their eyes, growling together, "We're gonna find whoever did it, and make him pay." See, didn't I tell you they were sweethearts? Leaning my head on George's shoulder, I smiled, and said, "In the meantime, since we're not sneaking back into Hogsmeade tonight, I say we use the daytrip to get some _supplies_, and plan a little Halloween present for our fellow students."

Their murderous, brooding expressions turned to sneaky little smirks, and everything seemed right with the world.

xxXxx

On the way out of the Hall, we ran into Harry. He still wasn't speaking to me, convinced our two years of friendship were actually an elaborate con to give my dad an easier time of killing him (and people say _I'm_ the paranoid one). From the twins' badgering of Ron, I'd at least learned that my little godbrother didn't know the supposed role my dad had in the deaths of his parents. Small blessings, I suppose.

"Hey, Bro," I greeted with a sheepish smile, "Wanna walk to town with us?"

"No," He snapped grumpily, glaring, "I told you to stay away from me. What, are you trying to lure me into a trap or something?" Taken aback, my feelings deeply hurt, I murmured weakly, "No... I just wanted to talk to you..."

"Prat," The twins spat together, each putting a comforting arm around me. "Watch your mouth when you're talking to our girl," George warned crossly. Already steering me away, Fred gave Harry a harsh shove as he growled, "And shut up about things you don't understand." _Sigh._ My heroes.

We were halfway to Hogsmeade before anyone said anything, and then it was, of course, George. "You alright, Stel?" He asked softly, giving my waist a little squeeze.

"I'm fine," I sighed. Both twins glared, and I rolled my eyes, remembering that they didn't like the "fine" response. "Ok, ok," I grumbled, "You've made your point. I'm not fine, but I'll live."

"Let's make the Three Broomsticks our first stop," Fred suggested, his blue eyes closely watching my forlorn face, "We'll get a butterbeer, and a private room, and we can talk, ya?" Leaning my head on his shoulder, I agreed jokingly, "Ok, but only if I can have a real beer."

He pinched me. Hard. "OW!" I shrieked, jumping out of his and George's embraces, "WHAT THE HELL?"

"YOU PROMISED!" The irate redhead shouted, his face turning to a very deeply displeased shade of purple. Suddenly feeling guilty but annoyed, I rubbed the stinging spot on my side and snapped, "I know! I was only joking!"

"Well, you shouldn't joke about that! It's not funny!" He returned, significantly calmer and just a little embarrassed, threading his fingers through his hair as he growled, "You're making me crazy here, Stel."

"Alright, sorry," I pouted, lifting my shirt to examine the stinging pinch on my side, "Fuck, Freddie. That really hurt."

His blue eyes fell to the forming bruise, and then he knelt down in front of me, settling his broad hands on my hips. "Here, let me see," He muttered, turning me slightly. When he saw the damage, he looked absolutely horrified, staring up at me wide-eyed as he gasped, "I'm so sorry, Stel. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's ok, I know," My answer was more breathless than I would've liked, and I suddenly found myself transfixed with his blue, blue eyes, and the painfully cute spattering of freckles along his cheeks and nose. Shaking my head to snap out of it, I added quietly, "Just smarts, is all."

Very disturbed by my reaction to Fred, I tried to step away, however, before I could, he tugged me back, holding my shirt up, keeping my side and most of my stomach exposed. After hesitating briefly, he leaned in closer and placed a soft little kiss on my skin, his lips lingering as he breathed, "There, all better."

My face turned red hot, even more when he tipped his head back and shot me an impish grin. I got butterflies low in my gut and immediately began to panic. Fred Weasley was _not_ supposed to give me butterflies. He was my best friend, and I was _so_ over the little crush I had on him... wasn't I?... oh fuck... fuck, fuck, _fuuuuuuck_...

"If you two are _quite_ done," George cut in, sounding bored, as well as annoyed at having been left out of the exchange, "Can we please get going?"

I cleared my throat loudly, pulling away from Fred and trying to plaster on a smile as I conceded, "Ya, ya, god forbid Georgie have to entertain himself for a lousy two minutes."

"My thoughts exactly!" The boy stated, shooting me a self-satisfied smile. I rolled my eyes, giving Fred a hand up as I announced, "You brother is an odd one."

"I know," He responded, smiling and slipping his arm around my waist again, "I had to share a womb with him for nine bloody months."

I giggled into Fred's shoulder, more when I heard George stomp along in our wake, pouting, "You were no picnic either, fat arse..."

xxXxx

"So..." I drawled awkwardly, peering at the twins over the top of my half-empty bottle of butterbeer. We were in a small, private room at the back of the Three Broomsticks, courtesy of Rosmerta, who loved all of us dearly and couldn't deny us anything. We'd been sitting in silence for quite some time, and I knew the twins wanted me to talk, but it didn't sound like very much fun so I was stalling for time.

"Wanna start from the beginning?" Fred suggested helpfully, practically squirming with curiosity. I nodded, and took a deep breath, and stared into my bottle as I hastily told the whole story, about getting frustrated by my roommates, and then Cormac, finding the map, sneaking out, drinking, stumbling back, the dog defending me from the stranger, getting tackled and strangled, finding out the stranger was Peter, him demanding the negatives, getting saved by the dog again, the rat, running, screaming, ending up back in the hospital wing, no one believing me, crying to Percy, then Hermione's odd comment that made me break with reality. I even tried to explain my reasons for jumping, how I did it to give myself hope, to prove that the laws of gravity really didn't apply. Needless to say, by the time I was through they were both shocked into speechlessness.

"I'm crazy, right?" I mumbled sheepishly, suddenly very worried about what the twins thought of me.

"Not at all," George soothed, immediately dragging his chair to my side of the small table and taking one of my hands. He smirked, amending, "Well, maybe a little, but not in a bad way, in a way that we love dearly, and wouldn't change for the world."

I giggled, barely even noticing Fred until he put his arms around me, hugging me tightly as he muttered, "You went through a lot, and had a hard time dealing. It's understandable. We're just glad you made it back to us in one piece. Don't do it alone next time. We're here for a reason, you know?"

"I love you guys," I sighed, leaning against Fred. I felt the boy chuckle, and added, "No, really. I don't know how you do it, but you two always make me feel better. Thank you."

"It's a gift," George declared, leaning over to give me a big ole smooch on the cheek, "And there's no need to thanks us, love." Squeezing me tightly against himself, Fred agreed, "Ya, we like seeing that pretty smile of yours." He ended the comment with a big, cheeky grin and a small kiss on the tip of my nose.

And that is when I began to cry, turning to hide my face in Fred's soft shirt as my arms circled his neck. He tightened his grip on my shaking body, cradling me as he inquired worriedly, "Stel? What's the matter?"

I sniffled, and hiccupped, and sobbed, "I-I'm just... scared... I'm really, really scared."

George put his arms around me as well, and I found myself closed safely between the twins. They held me like that, silently allowing me to cry and then calm myself down. When that had finally happened, I whimpered tiredly, "Sorry, guys... I hate being this way, but I can't seem to help it."

"No worries," George soothed, rubbing my shaking back, "You'll be fine eventually."

"Ya," Fred agreed, resting his cheek on the top of my head, "You're too damn stubborn not to be." That finally got a weak laugh out of me, and I think we were all glad for it. I love those two so much. Maybe everything would be ok after all...

xxXxx

After finishing our butterbeers, we paid Rosmerta and then wandered out into the main drag of Hogsmeade once more. I was feeling much better, and I believe the twins were as well. I hadn't realized just how much me not telling them something had thrown off our friendship until everything was restored to normal. We were laughing, and joking, and just having the best time.

I was looking around for my dog, but he never showed up. It was strange, but I didn't think anything of it. He could take care of himself now that he was healthy and boisterous again.

Our next stop was, of course, Zonko's, where we began plotting our Halloween prank and buying up the necessary ingredients. We ended up with a bag of enchanted fireworks, two pails of super-permanent pink sparkle paint, a few packets of dehydrated giant Chinese fire salamander eggs (Just add water for slimy, incendiary fun!), and a large box of live billywigs, fresh from Australia.

It was a lot more than we could afford, but, since Mr. Zonko absolutely loved us, he cut the price in half in exchange for our agreeing to test out a batch of prototype gag candies. We always did stuff like that for him, and we always had fun doing it.

After ushering us into the back, he brought out a tray that held three small, bright purple hard candies. "Here you go, kids," He beamed, offering it out, "One for each of you, and just let me know what you feel."

Laughing as I took mine, I responded, "'Course, Mr. Z. Jeez, you act like we've never been lab rats before!" George reached out and scooped up two, handing one to Fred as he stated, "Right. Me and Forge have been our own test subjects since we were five and broke into Bill's potion ingredients."

With a snort, Fred recalled nostalgically, "Ah, good times. We accidentally came up with Punching Pasties and knocked out all our front teeth."

"Really?" Mr. Zonko inquired, sounding genuinely interested, "Those sound fabulous! Do you still know the recipe?"

"By heart," The twins chimed, grinning proudly. Zonko laughed, stating, "Well, next time you have a trip here, make some up. If they're good, maybe I can sell them in the shop." Those two boys looked like they were floating on Cloud 9. It was their dream come true, and the beginnings of a long, industrious career in the joke business.

But I digress. Not to be distracted, the three of us looked at each other challengingly and then all popped the candies at once. They tasted rather pleasant, like those sweet red cherries that always top sundaes, but had no immediate effect. After about three minutes of sucking on the confections, we all shrugged.

And then I got lightheaded and had to lean against a stack of boxes to keep myself upright. The twins looked worried, asking in unison, "Stel?"

"Dizzy," I announced, trying to get my head to stop spinning as I watched Mr. Zonko bring out a clipboard and begin jotting notes. We all continued to suck on our candies. In fifteen minutes, the twins finally got the tiniest bit lightheaded. I had a splitting headache and couldn't stand without falling over.

"Hmm," Zonko mused thoughtfully, surveying us as I sat on the ground holding my head and the twins bent down on either side of me. "Curious," The man went on, scratching his short gray hair. He thought of something, then looked up and questioned, "If you don't mind me asking, how much do you weigh?"

"Um, I don't know," I answered rubbing my temples and glad that the headache seemed to be dying down a bit. For a gag, it sure wasn't funny.

"Could I weigh you? For purely scientific purposes, of course?" Zonko requested cautiously, seeming slightly afraid that I was going to go all typical female and bite his head off for even asking. With a shrug, I agreed, "Sure, go nuts."

Fred helped me stand up, and then I kicked off my shoes and stepped onto the scale Zonko conjured. I was shocked to read 38 kilos (that's about 85 pounds, for some of you). I was 5'10" by then, and that was not a healthy weight.

"Hmm," Zonko hummed once more, scratching his chin as he wrote notes. He looked to the twins, who were staring at me with utterly disturbed expressions on their faces, and asked, "What do you two weigh?"

"Sixty-eight," They breathed in unison (which would be right about 150 pounds each). It was a good weight for strong teenage boys only an inch or two shorter than me... shit...

"Ok, well, that's all," Zonko said, beaming at us, "Thanks for the help. Sorry it didn't work, but I think with this data I'll be able to fix the problem. Stop in next time." We left, none of us knowing what to say.

xxXxx

Fred and George insisted on a stop at Honeyduke's. While I was wandering around the aisles in a daze, they pooled their remaining money to buy me a two pound slab of chocolate. On the way back to school, they pulled me off to the side, presented it to me, and Fred threatened blankly, "Eat it, or we're telling."

Unwilling to argue, I nodded and nibbled little bits of it for the rest of the day. Things were fairly awkward, but we got our prank set up anyways. By the time the rest of the students were pouring into the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, I was already seated between the twins at the far end of the Gryffindor table. They were watching me like hawks, and every time I would stop eating the chocolate, which was beginning to make me feel just a little ill, one or both would glare until I started again.

I really couldn't blame them. I knew that they were just worried about me. Hell, I was worried about me. I hadn't even reazlied that I'd done that to myself, and it was frightening. How could I not have even _noticed?_

Food came. The twins heaped my plate with it, and Fred muttered the same threat as before. I felt ready to burst, but did like I was told. As stubborn and rebellious as I usually am, I just wasn't feeling it that night.

My spirits were brightened towards the end of the meal when our prank got set off. The fireworks blew up where they were hidden underneath the staff table, causing all assorted faculty to get thoroughly singed before the colorful balls of light went zooming around the room, which they were still doing several hours later. The pales of paint showered their contents over the entire Hall, dying anyone who didn't happen to have an umbrella (which was everyone aside from Fred, George, and me) pink and sparkly. As soon as people tried to wash off the super-permanent paint, the dehydrated giant Chinese fire salamander eggs (Just add water!) hatched and giant Chinese fire salamanders were crawling all over the place, breathing fire as they slithered over the student body's bodys. It was hilarious.

When the stampede of students and teachers tried to leave, the box of billywigs we'd set up outside the door was opened by a trip wire, and the huge swarm of inch-long blue insects attacked. They sting, and the stings cause giddiness and levitation, so half the population of Hogwarts was laughing like potheads and floating aimlessly around the castle. It was a good Halloween.

Too bad it didn't stay good.

I was exhausted, and just a little sick to my stomach by that time, but Fred, being the sweet guy that he is, offered me a piggyback ride to the Tower. At first, I thought it was a way for him to bug me about my weight some more, but he seemed genuine so I gave in. We were all in better spirits after watching the prank, and I think he and George had calmed down some, realizing that my extreme weight loss hadn't been intentional.

We were near the back of the group of Gryffindors as we made our way to the Tower. Finally at ease, George was trying very hard to peak under the back of my skirt.

"Aw, come on, Stel," He pleaded after the third time I'd smacked his hand away, "I just want to see what color your knickers are."

Giving him a speculative look, I questioned, "Why?" He grinned at me, his cooper eyebrows dancing rhythmically on his freckled forehead as he answered, "I'm a curious fellow."

"Sure you are," I laughed, turning back around to rest my head on my arms, tightening my grip on Fred's neck as he hoisted me a little higher. And then that devious spark flared up in my mind, and I grinned, commenting nonchalantly, "Besides, you can't see what color they are because I'm not wearing any."

Both Fred and I cracked up at the sound of his brother's choked, delirious moan. However, we weren't laughing for long because that's when we rounded the corner near the portrait and he stopped in his tracks. All the students were stopped, talking in hushed voices as they tried to figure out what was going on.

From over the heads, I could see that the Fat Lady's portrait had been slashed to ribbons. Someone was talking to one of the ones nearby, but I couldn't hear what was being said.

And then suddenly _everyone_ turned to look at me...

xxXxx

"No, it wasn't him," I insisted stubbornly for the fourth time in the same minute, the hundredth since that horrible night had begun, "My dad _did not_ slash the portrait. Why the hell would he need to? He's an innocent man, and he _is not_ out to kill Harry!"

For the fourth time in the same minute, Remus gave an exasperated sigh, sending the twins a pleading look. All the students had been ushered into the Great Hall to wait while the professors searched the castle for my dad, but they weren't going to find him because he wasn't the one who slashed the portrait, damnit!

Because of some rabid anti-Black sentiments, I was being isolated in the kitchens. It was stupid. I wanted to go out there and pick a fight with any idiot who dared make one fucking comment, but the all-powerful Dumbledore was insisting, saying that it was for my own safety. Bullshit.

"Stella..." Remus stated gently, seeming rather ill. Concerned, I began figuring out how close to the full moon it was, and was so busy doing it that I didn't hear the rest of what he had to say. The full moon would indeed be Friday. Poor Remus...

No! I was mad at him! I did not want to hug him, make him tea, and share my chocolate with him!

"Stella, are you listening?" He demanded, growing slightly angry as he waved his hand in front of my face. I glared, standing up from the chair I'd been in as I snapped, "I don't have to listen! I don't listen to people who don't know what the fuck they're talking about!"

Fred and George each took one of my arms, lightly restraining me as George offered sheepishly, "Stel... all the portraits in the hallway saw him."

"No, they're wrong!" I insisted, choking back tears of frustration and fear, still managing to hold up the furious front for the moment, "They're lying! He's not trying to kill anyone, so why would he want to break in to the Tower?"

"Stella," Fred calmed, pulling me until I was close enough for him to put one arm around, "Maybe... maybe he was... uh... trying to see you?"

Startled, I stepped back from him, my eyes wide with hope as I whispered, "Really?" After another moment in silence, during which Fred shared significant looks with Remus and his brother, the redhead gave me a small forced smile and offered, "Um... Ya? Maybe he... he probably missed you. I know if I'd been locked up for twelve years that you'd be my first stop..."

I thought about it for a moment, and then a dreamy smile came over my face. I launched myself at Fred, squeezing him hard as I buried my face in his neck. I knew my dad hadn't forgotten me! He was here to see me! ME! He still loved me! Forever! Like he promised!

Fred returned the hug, seeming slightly uncomfortable even as he said, "Ya. See. There you go. He was... looking for you... snd Remus just wants to know if you've seen him, or if he's tried to get in contact."

"No," I responded, too elated to notice how pained Fred's voice was. He knew he was lying to me, letting me believe something that wasn't true, and it really didn't sit well. "If he had," I continued obliviously, "I would've helped him leave the country, and probably gone with him, too."

"Stella!" Remus gaped, sounding both hurt and outraged. He was going to scold me, however, one look from George made him reconsider, sighing as he groaned, "Fine. Believe whatever you want. I need to go help with the search, so stay in here until told otherwise. I'll ask someone to bring you sleeping bags."

"Thanks, Professor," George murmured, also seeming uncomfortable with the story Fred told. Consciences. Who knew?

About a half hour later, I was still grinning stupidly over believing that my daddy had come to see me when someone knocked on the door. Since I was seated at a table with Fred's arms around me, George got up to answer it.

A few moments later Oliver Wood stepped in, struggling with the three large, squashy purple sleeping bags under his arms. He grinned when he saw me, greeting, "Hi, Stella."

"Hiya, Captain," I returned, jumping out from under Fred's arms to seize one of the sleeping bags from Oliver's as I scolded, "Georgie, you're a rude little planker sometimes. You can see he's having trouble carrying _our_ sleeping bags."

Shrugging, George replied, "I figured it was some kind of quidditch training exercise." I shot him a look of disbelief, prompting the boy to defend, "What? It's a legitimate assumption! Almost everyting he does is!"

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Oliver and offered brightly, "Ignore him. I don't think he'd lift a finger to pull his own mother from the path of a speeding train. Thanks for bringing these in."

Ignoring George's rather loud cry of protest to my comment, attempting to look suave as he ran his fingers through the perfectly messy brown hair on his head, Oliver chuckled, "Oh, no problem at all. Why are you three in here, anyways?"

"Oh," I reported, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice, "Well, I guess there's some big 'kill the daughter of the wrongly accused' mob out there, and the professors are afraid I'll get hurt."

"Ouch," The handsome seventh year returned, wincing in sympathy, "That really sucks. You should be careful then. After all, what's the saying? 'The mob is man voluntarily descending to the nature of the beast'?"

"Emerson," I announced, recognizing the quote immediately. I smiled sweetly, but was secretly surprised that he'd just made an intelligent sounding sentence at me, "Wow, a glimmer of a non-quidditch factoid? I'm impressed, Mr. Captain Commander Wood, sir." I finished it off with a cheeky little salute, just because I couldn't resist.

The tall brunette turned the slightest bit pink, still seeming very proud of himself as he said, "Seeing as how that's not such an easy thing to accomplish, I'm honored."

He winked, and I giggled. I didn't know I was flirting. I swear! I just couldn't help myself. I was in too good of a mood.

"Anyways," The burly brunette remarked, a genial smile spitting his handsome features, "I should get going. Percy got on my case about not being down here too long. See you around, and let me know if anyone gives you any trouble. I'll take care of them."

"Aw," I cooed jokingly, "How sweet, but I wouldn't worry. Just between us, I'm more of a danger to the idiots than they are to me." He laughed back, flashing a charming grin as he waved and left. I turned back to the twins.

"What was that?" George teased, looking like Christmas had come early. After giving him a confused glance, I began spreading out our sleeping bags close to the fire and asked, "What was what, Georgie-boy?"

"THAT!" He shouted, gesturing at the door Oliver had just disappeared through, "That giggly, flirty thing you were doing with Wood! You totally like him! When did this happen?"

Was he serious? "Are you serious? I _do not_ like him. I was just being nice. God, you are such a girl sometimes."

After pouting, George continued to defend his theory, announcing, "That was not nice! That was _niiiiiiccccceeee!_"

"Oh, would you cut it out?" I commanded, lying sprawled on my back on top of the sleeping bag, "I'm a friendly person."

"Since when?" He asked, genuinely confused and slightly incredulous. Closing my eyes, I hummed, "Since always. It's not my fault most people hate me before even meeting me."

"Still..." George went on, clearly not planning on letting go of his entertainment for the evening, "I say something is going on. Even if you don't like him, he definitely has a thing for you. Did you see the way he was blushing? He never blushes! And he spewed poetry at you!"

"Ralph Waldo Emerson was not a poet, you Philistine," I yawned, "He was a transcendentalist." The room was silent briefly, and then George grunted, "Huh?" Not willing to explain transcendentalism to the boy (I was too tired, but, also, convinced he wouldn't listen anyways), I rolled onto my side and ignored him.

I was trying to sleep, but George wouldn't let it go. He even tried to involve Fred, suddenly turning to his brother and smacking him hard as he bellowed, "You saw what I'm talking about, right mate? It was so obvious!"

"Drop it," Fred growled, sounding extremely upset. My interest peaked. I rolled over again to peer across the room at him. Just as I thought, he did look quite pissed off, practically seething as a dark scowl twisted his normally cheerful features. He wouldn't even look at me. What was his deal?

Also sensing some displeasure from Fred, George finally shrugged and made one last comment of, "Fine. I still say Stella's his wet dream now, but oh well." Fred punched George. George punched Fred. I fell asleep laughing, listening to them wrestling and sending stacks of large brass pots clattering across the kitchen floor.

xxXxx

_"Waaaaaaiiiiiiittttttt a minute..."_

Is it normal to wake one's self with a thought like that?

Hmm, I didn't think so.

But that's how I woke, with that thought suddenly propelling me bolt upright out of my sleeping bag.

_"Why would he break into the Tower to see me?"_ I asked myself, panting in the near darkness with the twins still out cold on either side of me, _"That doesn't make any sense. He'd never get me alone in the Tower..."_

My dad wasn't trying to see me!... Then, what _was_ he doing?... And why had Fred tried to convince me he'd been out to see me?...

"Fred!" I growled, smacking him sharply in his freckled face, "Frederick Gideon Weasley! You wake up right this second!"

"Huh?" He started tiredly, getting himself tangled in his purple sleeping bag as he attempted to defend himself, get out of the bag, stand, and run all at the same time, "Whut'zit? Whus' goin' on?"

"You are a great prat, Fred Weasley!" I cried, already feeling tears come to my eyes as I came to accept that none of what he said had been true. My dad wasn't trying to see me at all. He'd been free for months and he hadn't even tried! He had been breaking into the Tower, but if it wasn't for me, then it was for... for Harry! And it would be stupid of him to try to confront Harry about his innocence there, too. That only left the possibility that he wanted to... kill him... oh god, he was a killer? He'd rather kill his godson than try to find me? Did I mean that little to him?

"What?" Fred questioned, clearly confused and still only half awake. His red hair was sticking up in all directions and his face had lines on it from the creases in the purple pillow he'd been lying on. I'm sure that when I burst out into tears he was utterly, utterly bewildered.

"Stella," He soothed, finally managing to sit up and pull me into his embrace, "What's wrong?"

I couldn't even answer. I was so upset. Everything I believed seemed to be falling apart. I sobbed into Fred's chest until late in the morning, paying no mind to George's snores or the sounds of the house elves starting breakfast around us.

xxXxx

I didn't speak to anyone for five days. Looking back, I can hardly believe it myself. I've always been a chatterbox. At the time though, the whole thing passed in a dream-like blur.

I didn't know who or what to believe anymore. Was my dad innocent, despite the fact that everything pointed to him being guilty? Was he really trying to kill Harry? Why hadn't he made any attempt to contact me? I couldn't handle the answers my brain was spitting back.

Dumbledore started offering me black licorice in our sham therapy sessions. I hate black licorice and he knew it. I think he was offering the disgusting candies just to try to get me to tell him to fuck off, but instead I ate them anyways. It didn't matter. Everything tasted like cardboard.

He was the first person the twins alerted, near the end of the second day when I still wasn't responding to them in any way. Remus was next, and both men tried their hands at snapping me out of the state I'd fallen into but with no success. I couldn't handle the truth, so I guess I just shut myself down from it and the rest of the world.

I cried a lot, too. Little things that I'd never blink an eye at before were setting me off. I wandered past a group of Ravenclaws who were whispering about me, and showed up to my next class with tears running down my face. Someone threw a piece of toast at me during breakfast, and the twins had to take me outside because I was bawling.

Worst of all was Harry.

He stormed up to me the day after it happened, his eyes wild as he blocked my way down the hall and hissed, "I know it was you who let him in. We all know. You're not getting away with it, and don't even _think_ of trying it again." And then he walked away. And I spent the rest of the day sobbing in the bathroom.

The night of the full moon I snuck out of the castle. I had to clear my head. I'd been sort of slowly coming around over the last half day or so, and I just _needed_ to get out of that place, to find somewhere safe and non-threatening where I could think.

That place ended up being the shores of the Great Lake. The weather was getting bad, high winds whipping my hair into my face as I gazed blankly over the chopped surface of the water. I could feel myself going insane, and I wanted a fucking drink, but couldn't have one because I'd promised the twins I'd try not to drink so much. It was tempting though, because it would've numbed the horrible thoughts in my head.

I thought about my mum, how she died trying to prove that my dad was innocent. I never doubted her when she told me he was, and now it felt like I was spitting in her face for doing so.

But, hard as I was trying, there was no way for me to ignore the facts: He broke into the school. He tried to break into the Tower. He slashed the Fat Lady's portrait.

If he wasn't there for Harry, then what reason could he have possibly had to do those things? The pieces of the puzzle would not fit together neatly, and I eventually got so frustrated that I started to cry.

That's when I heard it, a soft whine right behind me. Slowly sniffling as I picked my head up, I looked over my shoulder to see that my dog was sitting just a few feet behind me, staring with a sad expression in his blue-gray eyes.

"Puppy," I whimpered, my voice slightly hoarse from disuse. The sound was a little bit alien after having gone so long without it, but I continued anyways, wiping my eyes on my sleeves, "C'mere, puppy."

The dog approached slowly, his head down as he whimpered and crawled across the grass until he was right at my side. I petted his matted black fur, finding some comfort in the simple gesture. The animal put his head in my lap, seeming sad yet content.

"He's forgotten about me," I declared out loud, talking to myself despite the fact that I could feel the dog's ears perk up. Sniffling, I continued, "He's been out for months, and he hasn't tried to contact me at all. He must have forgotten about me... he doesn't love me anymore... he doesn't care... he only wants Harry... but... but he _can't_ be a killer... Mummy said so..."

I was so confused. I was crying again, leaning down to hug the dog as I pressed my face into his fur. He was whining softly.

And that is how the next several hours passed. Around two in the morning, I was still sobbing pitifully when I heard a stick snap behind me. Immediately tense and slightly frightened, I sat up and turned around. My eyes were blurry from the tears, but I could distinctly see a red-headed blob coming my way.

"Fred?" I called, miserable but slightly hopeful. I was feeling like crap, and Fred always made me feel better.

"Right here, Stel," He returned, his smiling face slowly coming into focus as he got closer. Pretty soon, he was seated right beside me, and I had my head on his shoulder. I closed my eyes, stating, "Fred, did he forget me?"

"Probably," The boy answered, his voice taunting, and cold, and... not his. I immediately sat up, whirling around to find myself instead staring into Peter Pettigrew's fat, horrid face. My throat closed up, and I instantly found myself scrambling back away from him. The dog stood, seeming slightly worried by the disturbance, and just cocked his head at me, like he didn't know what was going on.

I was already starting to panic. Pettigrew was closing in fast, wearing that weedy, shit-eating smile of his as he taunted, "Or maybe he hasn't forgotten you, but he just doesn't care anymore! You're not worth risking his life to see! You're just an insane little alcoholic, and everyone hates you! He's ashamed of what you've become! You're crazy and failed at getting people to see that he wasn't a murderer, so he hates you! He wasn't breaking in to kill Harry! He was breaking in to kill you! You're the biggest mistake he ever made, and thinks you should've died with your baby sister, or with your mother! You couldn't protect them! Even after he told you to! You can't do anything right, and they're dead, and it's your fault! He hates you!"

"SHUT UP!" I screeched, closing my hands over my ears as new tears poured down my face. Why was Peter here? Why was he saying these things to me? It wasn't my fault they died! It wasn't! I tried to protect them! I really did! I couldn't! There was nothing I could do!

I could hardly breathe for crying so hard, and eventually stopped being able to crawl away from the squat man stalking towards me. I curled up into a ball, whimpering and sobbing helplessly. He was going to kill me.

Nothing happened. After a few long minutes of crying, I finally gathered the courage to look up. No one was there. The dog was standing over me, still wearing a look of confusion as he whined and then bent down to lick my arm.

At first, I didn't understand what happened.

And then it hit me all at once: I'd hallucinated it. I'd hallucinating Fred coming over to make me feel better, and then him turning into Pettigrew and saying those horrible things. It all seemed so _real_ though...

Oh god, what was wrong with me?

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She's a crazy one, eh?

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	7. Mistakes I Don't Regret

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WARNING! This part contains lemon. Sorry for anyone who doesn't like that, but my imagination really got away from me. Anyways, hopefully it's good. Heh. Hope you enjoy either way.

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Part 7 - Mistakes I Don't Regret

Hallucinations are an indicator of less than pristine mental health. And I was scared.

The day after I imagined the Fred and Peter apparitions by the lakeside, I was sitting alone in the Great Hall waiting for the real Fred to come to breakfast. It was still very early in the morning, but I'd barely managed to drag my stunned, confused, sort of terrified self that far. I couldn't find the energy to go the rest of the distance to the Tower.

I was all alone, but a plate of fruit had appeared in front of me shortly after I sat down, and I was munching on that. I had a far away look on my face.

I didn't notice Katie Bell cautiously sit down across from me until she was practically screaming my name. "Stella!" The girl shouted, waving a hand in front of my face. Suddenly snapping out of my thoughts, I turned and regarded her startledly. Where the hell had she come from?... Was she real?

"Um," The blonde muttered, giving me a funny look, "Hi. Are you alright?" After staring at her for a few long moments, I answered blankly, "I... I don't know... I guess..."

She was in my year, and seemed nice enough, athletic, pretty, and reasonably well-liked by most. She'd never spoken to me, despite the fact that we'd shared a dorm room for the last four years, but she'd never been outright mean to me, either, not like Abigail and Wendy, or, as I liked to call them, Jason and the fat one. I didn't really know what to make of her sudden interest in me, and I wasn't entirely sure if I was imagining her or not.

"Well, er," She went on, brown eyes speculative, "I mean, are you hurt or anything?" I shook my head, and she breathed a sigh of relief, smiling slightly as she stated, "That's good. It sort of freaked me out when you got beat up a few weeks ago."

"Um..." I replied dumbly, still trying to figure out whether or not I was having a real conversation, "Sorry?" She laughed lightly, waving me off as she stated, "No worries. I just figured I'd make sure you were alright, and nothing like that had happened again."

I regarded the blonde carefully for a few moments, making her slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of my gaze if the way she squirmed was any indication, but, finally, I just muttered, "Um... thanks."

Adopting a forced smile, she asked lightly, "You're welcome. So... coming to the quidditch game today?"

"Ya," I answered, having forgotten until that moment that Gryffindor was playing Hufflepuff later in the afternoon. "That's good," Katie replied, digging into the plate of hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs that had just appeared for her, "All the support we can get is good. I just hope the weather clears up. It's looking awful. I hate playing in the sodding rain."

"Ya," I stated dumbly, "Er... ya... rain is bad... for quidditch... and also for watching quidditch..."

Giving me a strange look, Katie asked, "You sure you're alright? Did something happen?"

I opened my mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. So I was just sitting there, gaping and silent, and I didn't know what to do. I still wasn't even sure if I was talking to myself or not...

"Right..." She drawled, slowly getting up from her seat, "I'm just going to go see if I can find the twins for you, ok? Don't go anywhere." Dumbly, I nodded, and then she was gone.

xxXxx

"I really don't know," I'm not sure how much later I heard Katie's voice coming back into the Hall, but I was still sitting in exactly the same spot. My mouth was still hanging open as well.

"I just tried to talk to her," The blonde announced, sounding slightly put-out, "Be nice, you know? It's kind of horrible how everyone's been treating her. Not her fault about... well, she seemed, like, traumatized or something."

"But she actually talked to you?" It was one of the twins. I was worried that I couldn't tell which one. The other added, "She hasn't been talking at all! What did she say?"

"Something about rain being bad for quidditch," Katie replied snappishly, "And bad for watching quidditch, too. Look, just go fix your friend. Something is wrong with her. She's always seemed pretty weird, but not _this_ weird."

And then there was a twin on either side of me. Despite the fact that I'd been listening to them approach, they still managed to startle me, making me jump as Fred let his arms come around my body.

"Stel?" He asked cautiously, pulling me against his chest, "Stel? What happened? Are you ok?"

I looked up into his face and immediately screamed. I was still troubled over the whole 'hallucinating my best friend' thing, and was terrified of the fact that I could be doing it again. I didn't know if Fred was real or not; I didn't know if he was going to turn into Peter Pettigrew and tell me more horrible things about my dad and myself.

"Stella?" He stated, frowning sadly as he tried hard to keep me from fighting my way out of his grip, "Stel, stop! It's me! It's Fred! What's wrong?"

"NO! NO! NO!" I shrieked, kicking and punching wildly, "YOU'RE NOT REAL! DON'T TOUCH ME! I'M SORRY! I TRIED TO SAVE THEM! PLEASE, I'M SORRY!"

The twins were both confused, sharing utterly horrified glances as Fred held on tighter. "Stella," He commanded, his breath hot against my ear as I began to cry out of frustration and fear, "Stella, stop. Listen. It's _Fred_. The real me, I promise. Please, try to relax. I've got you, ok?"

I don't know why I believed him. Really, there was nothing about what he said that should've truly convinced me. Still though, I felt myself slowly starting to calm down just from realizing that it was _Fred_. The real him, he promised.

"There you go," He muttered, his voice shaking noticeably as he held me close and petted my hair, "Relax. You're alright... I got you..."

xxXxx

They sent me to a shrink after that, a real wizarding psychiatrist, ridiculous amounts of diplomas on the walls and everything. Dumbledore seemed a bit sad that his personal therapy hadn't done the trick.

I remember the waiting room, sitting there with Remus that afternoon. I was watching the rain out the window, thinking that I should be cheering on Fred, and George, and Harry at their quidditch game, thinking that I was weak and stupid for having ended up in this inane, pastel-colored waiting room.

Finally growing frustrated with flipping through an old magazine, Remus sighed heavily, flinging the publication into the empty seat to his left. He turned to me, his gold eyes shadowed darkly, tired. He'd just gotten over a full moon, and now he had to deal with all my issues. God, what was wrong with me? Why was I hurting all the people I loved?

"It's going to be ok, Stella," He announced, his voice hoarse and not at all convincing as he put one of his hands over mine. I looked up at him, scared and just... scared, and whispered crossly, "How? She's going to say I need to be locked up! I'm fucking crazy!"

He opened his mouth, asserting heatedly, "You're not-" However, he was cut off by the shrink entering the waiting room, smiling sweetly as she called, "Stella Black?"

"Yo," I deadpanned, getting to my feet and following the petite brunette back into her office without even a brief backward glance.

"My name is Dr. Dink," She said, smiling her wide, bright white, rather toothy smile as she gestured for me to have a seat on one of the two big, squashy brown leather armchairs set up by the window, "But you're welcome to call me Talia if that would make you more comfortable. I want you to feel safe here, and know that you can tell me anything without fear of being judged or ridiculed. My only concern is helping you."

And throughout that long, rather touching speech, the only thing that I could think about was how absolutely hilarious her name was. Seriously, a shrink named Dink? Shrinky Dink? Like those muggle toys! And she was so little, too, probably barely above five feet, if even that. Shrunken Shrinky Dink! Haha!

"Stella?" The woman asked, looking at me over the top of her thin, horn-rimmed glasses as she brushed a stray lock of dark hair back into the prim up-do she kept the rest of it in, "Are you listening?"

"No, sorry," I muttered, shrugging and leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable chair as I swept my gaze over the rest of the office. It had wood paneled walls and red carpeted floors, which I liked a lot better than those in the pastel monstrosity that was her waiting room. It was a small space, just the chairs in one corner, and a neat desk with another chair in the other. As I suspected, she had a million diplomas hung on the walls, as well as some soothing landscapes. I think they were Kinkades.

"Well," The woman went on, still remaining insufferably optimistic, her pretty features warm and caring, "Why don't we start by you letting me know a little bit about yourself. Your uncle tells me that you're very good in school. Do you like school?"

"He's not my uncle," I announced blankly, playing with the frayed end of my school skirt because it was tickling my thigh, "Not really. He's one of my dad's best friends. Or at least he used to be. I don't think Remus is too keen on my dad anymore because everyone thinks he's a murderer. He got locked up, but he just escaped this summer and everyone's been looking for him ever since. They've also been lying to me and constantly telling me how stupid and childish I am for believing that he's innocent. I really don't know if I do believe it anymore, but I have to keep trying because my mum died attempting to prove it. My baby sister died, too, in the attack on Diagon that everyone thinks my dad did as well. I was supposed to protect them both and I couldn't. It was the one fucking thing my dad told me to do before he went away, and I couldn't do it."

Dink was just staring, not saying a word but occasionally jotting down notes on her clipboard. I flicked some hair out of my eyes, noting how long the shaggy blonde locks had grown, past my shoulders by then, and stated casually, "But I guess school is alright. I mean, pretty much everyone hates me there, too, but I'm smarter than them so who the fuck gives a shit what they think, eh, _Talia?_"

Still no reaction from the good doctor, so I challenged, "Anything else, _Talia?_"

She looked up at me, daintily crossing her legs as she carefully readjusted her long black pencil skirt and blue pin-striped blouse. "I sense you don't want to be here," She stated, still smiling, "But the people who care for you are very worried about your health, both mental and physical."

Groaning, I grumbled, "Fuck. The twins told on me, didn't they?"

"Fred and... George Weasley, correct?" She asked, reading their names out of her notes before glancing back to me, "Your best friends?" I grudgingly nodded, and she went on, "After what happened this morning, they came forward with the information about your drinking and extreme weight loss. I spoke with them both briefly over the floo, and it was obvious to me that they care for you a great deal."

"So?" I questioned, growing rather annoyed with her, "That has nothing to do with why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" She immediately fired back. Sighing with frustration, I slumped down into the chair, stating, "I'm here, _Talia_, because I'm fucking crazy."

The good doctor chuckled slightly, shaking her head at me as she requested, "Please elaborate."

"I've been hallucinating," I growled, quickly growing annoyed with her, but relating what happened just so she wouldn't ask me to. Merlin, I even _sounded_ crazy while I was telling the story.

In the end, she simply gave me a soft smile, announcing, "While visual hallucinations are... troubling, I don't think you're crazy. Crazy people don't know that they're crazy. The fact that you recognize the visions as hallucinations and not as reality is a good sign." Before I could even argue with the ridiculous, frankly quite insulting logic, she went on, "You are troubled girl dealing with a lot all at once. You've dealt with a lot your entire life, but the stress surrounding your father's break out is just too much. You shouldn't feel weak or inadequate for not being able to handle it all on your own anymore."

"I'm not _weak_ or inadequate for not being able to _handle it_," I gritted back, turning away to gaze out into the rain, "I'm _weak_ and _inadequate_ for failing everything I've ever tried to do and hurting everyone I've ever come into contact with. Trust me, _Talia_, I'm not _troubled_. I _am_ trouble."

We sat in silence for a few moments, and I found myself harshly blinking back tears as I stared out the window. I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never crawl out again. I wanted... my puppy. I wanted to hug my dog.

"You've had a breakdown," The doctor told me quite plainly, "I can help you, but you've got to want my help."

After a few deep, calming breaths, I turned back to stare at her. The words left my mouth before I even realized I'd thought them. "Well," I told her, "Maybe I _don't_ want your help."

I got up and left. It was one of the many mistakes I made that day, one of the many mistakes I still don't regret.

xxXxx

By the time I convinced Remus to let me go back to Hogwarts, Gryffindor had already lost the quidditch match. Dementors attacked Harry, he fell off his broom, and that pretty boy Diggory caught the snitch. It was a tragedy of epic proportions, and I couldn't help feeling that it was somehow my fault.

Upon hearing the news, I immediately went to the hospital wing, to check on Harry and see if the twins were there. They were, but the second Harry saw me step into the room he started screaming at me to get away from him. He called me every cruel and hurtful name he could think of, and it was very hard to keep myself from crying. My little god-brother wasn't supposed to say those kinds of things to me... they were bad enough for me to not want to repeat, so I'll be moving on without doing so.

Fred stayed behind to yell at the boy while George tugged me gently outside. "I'm sorry, Stel," He stated sadly, pulling me into a great big bear hug, "He's being a prat right now because of the game, because he thinks it's his fault. Don't listen to anything he said."

"Whatever, Georgie," I sniffled, hiding my face in his soaked robes, "I should be used to it by now anyways."

He rubbed a soothing hand down my back, comforting, "He'll come to his senses. He's stubborn, not stupid." Chuckling, I agreed, "Ya, I guess."

"So..." He went on, resting his head on top of mine, "How was the shrink? You make sure to tell her that if she locks you up she'll have to deal with me and my twin? Forge is already planning how he'll spring you."

I laughed, joking, "I'm honored..." We stood there in silence, and I knew George was waiting for me to actually answer his real question, so I finally just sighed, "I walked out... she can't help me..."

"Stel-" George began scolding, only to be cut off by Katie Bell poking her head out the door. She smiled uncomfortably when she saw me, greeting, "Uh, hey, Stella... feeling better?" I shrugged, answering, "Sure. Why not?"

The blonde gave a force laugh, then turned to George and asked, "Any sign of Wood yet?"

George shook his head, damp red hair falling in his clear blue eyes as he replied, "Nope. I told you, he's probably drowning himself in the shower. We're going to need to send someone to talk him out."

"I'll go get him if you want," I volunteered, pulling away from the wet, kind hug, "Got nothing better to do, and you guys should stay. Keep Harry company."

"Stel, it's pouring," George argued sternly, "You're going to get drenched." I sent him a sly smile, teasing, "I'm already drenched, Mr. Bear-Hug. Don't worry, I'll be fine." And with that, I was off.

I was drenched by the time I reached the pitch, and muttering curses directed at a certain know-it-all Weasley (No, not Percy, George. Pay attention, people!) as I plodded through the mud. It was a blessing to suddenly find myself in the bright, overly warm locker room, shaking my hair like I was a shaggy dog and scowling at the mud splattered all over my bare legs.

"OY! Wood!" I immediately called, actually starting to feel much better in the heat. I'd been in the boys' lockers enough times to know how to navigate back to the dressing area, calling a warning of, "Wood, you'd better damn well be decent because I'm coming back there!"

"Huh?" Came the grunted reply, just in time for me to step around a corner and find the mud-splattered quidditch captain sprawled on the floor, one of his long legs flung over a bench and the other jammed in an open locker. The behavior seemed a little odd until I noticed that he had a large, quarter-empty bottle of firewhiskey clutched in one big muddy hand.

I walked a few steps closer, standing near his head. He peered up at me, his brown hair still damp and in disarray and his brown eyes fuzzy as he tried to focus on my face. I leaned over him, questioning, "What are you doing, Wood?"

After quickly glancing up my skirt, making me scowl and step back, he answered, "Gettin' drunk." His deep Scottish brogue was slow and muddled, as well as uncharacteristically bitter. Slowly, I took a seat beside his head, watching jealously as he brought the bottle up to his lips from a long swig of the dark amber liquid inside. I wanted a goddamn drink, but I'd promised Fred...

"Want some?" The captain offered, displaying none of his usual grace or coordination as he held the bottle out to me and nearly sloshed a bit onto my foot. I opened my mouth to say no, that I really shouldn't, that I'd promised, but, instead, "Sure" came out. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd taken the bottle and I'd taken a long, deep drink.

The bittersweet taste of it on my tongue, the heavy burn of it going down my throat, the hot, hot scorch of it as it settled in my gut felt _so good_. I remember moaning contently as I leaned back against the bright red lockers, stretching my legs out close to the top of Oliver's head as I made myself comfortable and continued to suck down more.

All the while, I was busy rationalizing and excusing my behavior. Sure, I'd promised Fred, but I didn't promise him I _wouldn't_ drink, just that I wouldn't drink so much. Since not a drop of alcohol had touched my lips in what seemed like forever, I figured a few shots with Wood wouldn't hurt anything. Besides, he was upset. We were both upset. And misery loves company, after all.

"We lost," Oliver stated, sounding shocked and pissed off as I handed the bottle back to him. He drank more, and I answered, "Mhmm. I heard. Sucks."

He nodded, wiping his thick, wet lips on the sleeve of his filthy quidditch robe. It was my turn for a drink, and I took another, delighting in the slow spinning feeling that was already pushing the bad and scary thoughts out of my head... it was pushing all thoughts out of my head, but that was fine, too.

"I hate losing," Oliver slurred, grunting angrily as he flung an arm over his eyes, "I wanna win the Cup. I gotta. I's my last year."

"You still can," I told him, gleefully helping myself to quite a good amount of his liquor, "Way I heard, this was a total fluke. It's too early to be giving up."

We were silent for a long time after that, and just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth. It was probably about two thirds gone when Oliver finally sighed and clumsily hoisted himself to his feet.

"Thanks for sitting with me," He said, still obviously angry but giving me a gentlemanly hand up. Even though he swayed on the spot, I took the help. I wasn't much better, so I sort of needed it, getting pulled to my feet and then directly into Oliver's rather firm chest. He was taller than me, but only by a few inches, so that put us right at eye level. The seventh year smirked, seeming pleased with himself and not making a move to step back.

"No problem," I returned, smiling in a dazed, floaty sort of way, not attempting to separate myself from him either, "Thanks for the firewhiskey."

He grinned wickedly and I suddenly wasn't as immune to it as I usually was. In fact, when he kept his mouth shut, he was quite a handsome and pleasant guy.

And then he leaned down and kissed me, soft at first but quickly progressing into hard and frenzied as he turned us and pinned me roughly against the lockers. God, he was strong, even while wasted, and I suddenly couldn't think of anything else aside from how good his body felt pressing against mine...

...how good his tongue tasted in my mouth, like the firewhiskey...

...how good his hands felt, rough against my smooth skin as they pushed under my shirt and groped everywhere they could reach...

...most of all, how good it felt to just be _wanted_...

And Oliver most definitely wanted me. The stiff bulge jabbing into my stomach was a pretty clear indicator.

One last swirl of tongue left us both starving for air as we pulled apart, the captain breathing hard and groaning as he slammed his forehead against the locker he still had me pinned against. Frustration was just _oozing_ off of him, palpable like the sweat I could smell in the air as his dense chest shook beneath my palms.

"I need a shower," He grunted curtly, finally taking a few steps back, clumsily shrugging off his quidditch robe as he ran a hand through his hair. A spot in the front stuck straight up. It was so cute that I couldn't help giggling at him.

But he really didn't like being giggled at, a scowl immediately crossing his handsome features. And then he was right on me once more, in under a second, pushing me hard against the lockers as he demanded dangerously, "Something funny?"

I gazed unflinchingly into his dark brown eyes, understanding his anger more than I even knew at the time, and answered plainly, "Your hair, Cap. But funny's not the right word. I was leaning more towards _cute_."

My words sunk in slowly, more slow than they normally would have to the slightly thickheaded jock since he was rather plastered. But, eventually, his wicked little smirk came back. His grip became slightly less painful, though it didn't subside completely as he eyed me up and down, taking in my wet, clingy clothing, and flushed face, and inviting, mud-splattered body. When he looked me in the eye again, he announced, "You need a shower, too."

The next few seconds passed in a rush of lips crashing sharply and hands ripping at clothing and sweat-slick skin being bared to the hot, humid locker room air. Oliver somehow managed to pick me up off the ground and anchor my long legs around his waist as he stumbled us both into the blindingly white tile of the communal showers. Both our shirts were gone by the time he shoved my back against the wall, the cool ceramic against my overheating skin wrenching a strangled moan from my throat as Oliver kissed and licked and bit the smooth column.

He smelled like sweat, salty and hot, and he was rocking his hips into mine over and over again, making my head spin in a way that was entirely different from the spin of the alcohol coursing through my blood.

My skirt disappeared somewhere between me reaching over to turn the hot water on full blast and him tearing my bra off over my head. We were bathed in steam, the slightly hotter than comfortable water soaking my hair and burning my flesh. Oliver shuddered as it poured over his back, groaning as he bent to attach his mouth to one of my nipples, simultaneously ripping my skimpy white thong clean off my body.

The elastic bit into me before tearing, and then snapped against me with a harsh sting that made me cry out and arch against Oliver. He suckled and bit all over one breast before turning his attention to the other, leaving me to just hold on tight to his shaggy brown hair as my eyes rolled back into my head. I had never experienced such a feeling before, and I really liked it.

But if I thought that was good, there was nothing that could compare to what came next. One of Oliver's hands abandoned its position keeping my arse captive and it snaked down to hurriedly unzip and lower his trousers. I could feel him shift against me, stroking himself and in too much of a damn hurry to even get completely undressed. I remember thinking that it wasn't really fair that I was naked and he wasn't.

And then I stopped being able to think when he brushed his knuckles along the wet folds of my cunt, brushing something just _there_ that suddenly made me see stars. I threw my head back so violently that I nearly knocked myself out on the wall, whimpering as his thumb rubbed circles on a hard little nub I'd barely paid attention to before that moment.

He pressed a finger inside me, too fast and too rough but I was past caring. Or maybe I just needed it that way. Maybe I liked it. The digit pumped in and out only a few times as I mewled against his mouth. It burned slightly, and felt odd as he wiggled it around in the tightwet heat he found.

Without further preparation or warning, he grasped my hips firmly in both hands and slammed me down onto his cock. It hurt. I'd heard girls talk about how much the first time hurts, but I was completely unprepared for it to be that fucking bad. The stars behind my eyes were suddenly just white hot pain. I screamed, giving a convulsive, shuddering sob that was muffled by Oliver's mouth closing over mine. I don't think he realized or even cared at that point that he was hurting me.

His whole body shook as he stilled for a just a fraction of a second, just long enough to grunt into my ear, "Fuck. Tight. _Fuck_." And then he started to move, his hips immediately setting a hard, fast pace as he ruthlessly pounded me into the wall.

At first, it just hurt even more. Every time he pulled himself nearly all the way out and then hammered all the way back in I was screaming in agony. The water was still falling over us, but I'm fairly sure by that time some of the moisture on my face was tears.

Gradually, it started to get better. The hot hard slide of his cock inside me started to feel good, and then very good, and then just the most utterly fantastic thing I'd ever experienced. I was moaning out loud, clenching myself around Oliver as he raised and lowered me with those huge arms, rocking my body into his and rubbing my clit against his hard abs. God, I can't believe I got off like that, coming to the feel of a wet hot wave of spasms washing over me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. My toes curled as my legs tightened around Oliver's waist, pulling him closer as I clutched at him and sunk my nails into his tense shoulders.

He just kept going, grunting and sweating and swearing as he bit down on my neck. It was overwhelming. It was blissful. I could just let myself go, let go of the thoughts and worries and fears that had been plaguing me, making me sick for months. I could just surrender myself over to sensation, the whole world becoming one harshfastrough blur of sight and smell and touch and taste and "OH! Fuck, yes! Harder! More! Fuck me! Oh, god, YES!"

I didn't even realize I was talking until he moaned against the breast he was sucking. He pulled back, his voice sounding strained and on edge as he gasped, "Fuck. So fucking hot. That's it, baby. Scream for me!"

He reached down between my legs, pinching my clit between a rough thumb and finger and twisting it hard. I was gone after that, shrieking as I exploded around him, my head swimming as my vision unfocused itself from the sheer intensity of the release. I felt Oliver surge into me shallowly a few last times before he grunted against my neck and spilled inside me. It was a strange feeling, wet hot liquid pulsing into body, dripping down the cleft of my arse before it fell to the floor and mixed with the scalding water to swirl down the drain. I had a brief moment where I panicked about getting pregnant. Then I remembered that I hadn't had a period in months anyways. Being too thin makes you unable to get pregnant. I was so glad that I'd read that anatomy textbook the year before.

It was over, and we were both just frozen like that, breathing hard as we slowly came down from the unbelievable high. We were shivering even as the blistering water continued to pour over us, as the steam made it difficult to get adequate amounts of oxygen to our addled, drunken brains.

Eventually, Oliver gently pulled away, his cock sliding out of me with an embarrassing wet pop. I immediately felt fluid dripping down the insides of my thighs. I looked down and was horrified to see that it was a mix of come and blood.

Oliver was horrified as well, flushing even darker than he already was as his eyes went wide. "Shit," He swore, looking back to my face, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get so rough with you!"

I shrugged, trying not to betray that I was a little frightened as I turned my back on him and started to wash off. "It's ok," I told him, my voice and knees still shaking slightly, "I'll be fine." Even turned the other way, I could tell he was staring at my arse, letting his eyes roll along the smooth lines of my legs and back. Again, it felt really good to be wanted, just the way I was, insanity, eating disorder, fugitive father, and all.

"Well," He announced, turning on the shower beside mine as he too began rinsing off, "That was... amazing..." He was slurring his words only a little bit now, so his drunkenness seemed to be wearing off quickly. I was still dizzy, and I intended to stay that way. This combination of sex and booze was absolutely _perfect_. I could hardly think, which was good because I really didn't want to anymore.

"Thanks," I returned, smiling in a drugged up way as I finally stopped bleeding and shut off the shower, "You weren't half bad yourself." I'm fairly sure he was already way over his depression about the quidditch game, but figured stoking his ego a bit couldn't hurt anything. Besides, he was pretty good.

The boy grinned like it was Christmas morning, finally remembering that he should probably take off his pants if he intended to have a real shower. I'd never seen a guy completely naked before, and I couldn't help but stare. He was fairly large, and I was rather impressed with myself and with him.

He saw me staring and smirked, shamelessly lathering himself up as he shot me a full frontal view and stated, "Don't go anywhere, ok? I wanna walk back with you."

"Sure," I agreed, blushing as I turned away and gathered up my clothes before I left, grabbing a towel off the stack by the shower entrance. Sore but sated, I dried off and then dressed, sipping more firewhiskey and realizing too late that my knickers were completely trashed so I was going to have to go without. I'd just pulled my skirt on over my bare arse when I heard the locker room door open and the most inconvenient voice in the world call, "Stella? Wood?"

"_Shit_," I swore under my breath, quickly checking my appearance in a mirror as I hurriedly tried to get my hair and clothes as dry as possible. "Um," I called uncertainly, "In here, Fred."

He came around the corner about two seconds later, breathing a relieved sigh as a weak smile came over his freckled face. "Hey, love," He greeted, crossing the room in a few strides, sweeping me into a friendly hug and peck on the cheek, "I was getting worried. George said you walked down here hours ago. Everything alright?"

"Ya," I told him, smiling sweetly as I returned the hug and tried not to slur my words, "Fine. Me and Oliver were just... talking."

He smirked, laughing, "Oh ya? Did you manage to take his mind off our tragic defeat?" I think my heart fucking _stopped._ Inuendo, curse you to hell!

"Um, ya," I answered, trying with all my might not to blush, "It's not the end of the world, after all."

"Stella?" Oliver's voice called happily, "You're still here, right?" A second later, he walked around the corner wearing nothing but a low-slung towel. His brown eyes grew wide in his skull when he saw Fred...

..._Awkward_...

After a moment or two, the captain managed to collect himself, coughing uncomfortably as shimmied his towel higher up on his hips and greeted, "Uh, hey there, Weasley..." And, whether it was natural or a side effect of the firewhiskey, he asked rather tactlessly, "Why are you here?"

"Just looking for Stella," Fred answered, seeming like he was thinking hard as he eyed Oliver skeptically and just a little bit hostiley, "What are you doing flashing my best friend with your hideous man-teats?"

"Freddie!" I scolded, smacking him on the arm as I blushed. Oliver's face turned red as well, and he gaped, unable to think of an answer on the spot. I was starting to remember why I wasn't particularly fond of talking to the boy when we were both in sober states. He was rather slow pretty much everywhere aside from on a broom... or in a bedroom (shower, whatever, just let me have my alliteration)...

"Don't be rude, Fred," I told him, giving a pointed glare, "It's not like I haven't seen your horrible man-teats before."

Before the sentence was completely out of my mouth, I saw Fred's eyes dart around the rest of the room, dangerously close to the near empty bottle of firewhiskey that I'd left on the bench. For a brief moment, I held my breath, praying that he wouldn't see it.

But he did, and his gaze immediately came back to me. Then Oliver, where it grew several degrees more angry. Then me again, where it seemed to bore a hole straight into my flesh. I could see betrayal in his expression, hurt, and rage, and disappointment, and... something I couldn't even begin to name.

"You _promised_," He accused sharply, his voice so cold that I remember actually physically wincing as I stared down at my feet. I was ashamed.

"Fred..." I weakly tried to defend my actions, but I knew there was really no excuse. What I'd done was selfish, but I was finding that I was becoming more and more selfish as that horrible year progressed. All I seemed to care about anymore was relief from the exhaustion and fear and anger and grief. I'd broken my promise; I felt bad that I'd let Fred down, but it was hard to actually care.

"Weasley," Oliver cut in bravely, defending me like a true Gryffindor, "Don't be mad at Stella. The whiskey's mine."

I could see the muscles in Fred's jaw tightening as he hissed, "But you gave her some, right? You gave her some, and she drank it?"

At a loss, Oliver looked between me and Fred, searching for the correct way to answer the question without lying or getting either of us in trouble. Such a solution did not exist. "Er..." The captain finally muttered, "Ya..."

"What the hell is your problem?" Fred exploded, on Oliver so fast that I got dizzy, shoving the older boy hard against the lockers as his face turned a hot, furious red behind his freckles, "Stella's _fourteen!_ She's a _fourth year!_ You have absolutely no business with her, and you certainly don't have the right to get her drunk!"

Oliver really did seem to have forgotten about my age, his mouth falling wide open as an "I'm doing math now" look came over his features. Fred didn't care, he just kept screaming, "Don't fucking give her liquor! Just stay the hell away from her all together! She's mine, and I'm not going to let you hurt her! Or let her hurt herself!"

He then turned and grabbed me roughly by the elbow, spinning me around and dragging me out as he ordered gruffly, "Come on. We're going back to the castle to sober you up."

I was biting back tears, but feeling inexplicably angry as well. Before he could pull me very far, I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, yelling, "No! I don't want to sober up! I'm sick of being sober!"

"Stella-" Fred growled, cutting himself off to take a deep, calming breath, "You have to stop! You're killing yourself! Don't you see it? Don't you _care?_ You're my best friend, and I love you! I won't let you do this!"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" I shouted in reply, barely aware of what I was even saying. Briefly, I saw pain flash across his clear blue eyes. I'd hurt him. I hurt everyone. Fred just loved and cared about me, and I hurt him.

I couldn't take it. I turned and I ran, out into the cold and rain and dark and mud, only half aware of Fred screaming for me to come back.

xxXxx

Later, soaked and shivering in the near pitch darkness just on the dangerous side of the Forbidden Forest, I was slowly sobering up. As I became less and less inebriated, I became more and more depressed. Nothing was right anymore. Nothing made sense or even seemed worth going back to.

Pulling my thin, mud-splattered knees to my chest, I considered running away, far, far away. I wanted to run, to outrun my problems. That would be impossible though. Fucking impossible. There were too many of them, and each one was another slab of concrete, weighing me down, slowly, slowly crushing the life out of me...

Sniffling, I tried not to let myself be scared back in doors, to let the dark and cold and loneliness drive me into the safety of the castle. In there, I would have to deal with Fred, and Oliver, and Remus, and Harry, and the rest of the intolerant, ignorant student body.

I just wished I wasn't all by myself. It was cold and creepy, not to mention dark. I felt vulnerable and alone.

An answer to my prayers came in the form of a bark, followed by a mass of sopping, shaggy black fur running out of the darkness and right for me. Despite the tears still clinging to my cheeks, my face lit up in a big smile that turned into a happy laugh of, "Puppy! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

He bounded into my arms, jumping all over me and licking my face before finally settling his whole body into my lap. He was so big that he covered me up from the waist down, like a cozy blanket made of wet dog. Leaning against a tree, I sighed, suddenly exhausted now that I felt a little safer.

"I'll go back in the morning," I mused outloud, slowly closing my eyes as my fingers slowly scratched behind his ear, "They'll probably send me to the shrink again for this... You know, I wouldn't have any issues if people would just believe me when I say my dad's innocent. I mean, that's where all this comes from, them taking him away from us..."

I vaguely heard the dog whine, but I was more than half asleep, just talking to myself to fill the silence as I slipped off, "He probably forgot all about me anyways... or hates me... because I couldn't protect Mum and the baby..."

With one last shiver, I allowed myself to give in to the dark.

xxXxx

The sun woke me in the morning, fucking bright and cheery and right in my eyes. With a disoriented groan, I tried curl away from it, to squeeze my eyelids tighter, but it was no use. There was too much fucking light.

After spending a few moments remembering where I was, I slowly got to my feet, slightly disappointed that I didn't see my dog anywhere around. He was nice company. I sighed, trying to ignore the chills from my wet clothes as I prepared myself for the long march back to the castle.

It was then that I noticed a crumbled scrap of paper clutched in my hand. I had no idea where it had come from, frowning slightly as I smoothed it out and read the blotchy, crooked words:

_Never forget._

I didn't understand what it was supposed to mean. Never forget what? Who the hell had stuck the note into my hand? Who the hell had been standing over me while I slept? It was a little creepy.

Nonetheless, I stuck the scrap into my pocket and took the long walk back to school.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yay for lemon! I don't write enough of them. I'm sure some people are upset about her getting with Oliver, but keep in mind that I do have a point to all this. You must be patient my lovelies.

Hehe, Dr. Dink. Yet another of the random thoughts that make me laugh at inappropriate times.

My imagination lives on reviews. Have a heart; please don't let him starve.


	8. Christmas at the Burrow

Part 8 - Christmas at the Burrow

I was fourteen years old when I lost my virginity to Oliver Wood in the quidditch locker showers following Gryffindor's tragic defeat to Hufflepuff. We were both drunk, but, as far as first times go, it was pretty good. I'd even say above average.

The bad part was the fall out.

Fred and I started avoiding each other. I thought he was mad at me because he'd caught me drunk again after I promised him I'd stop, and I didn't want to hear his lectures. He thought I was mad at him for yelling at me, or something like that.

Anyways, the whole situation was frustrating and just made everything I was going through even worse. I figured that since Fred was going to be mad no matter what, there was no point in even trying to stay sober anymore.

I began to drink a lot more. Several times a week, I'd steal the Marauders' Map from the twins and sneak into Hogsmeade to get trashed. Every time George took the piece of parchment back, he gave me such a tragically disappointed look that I almost felt like crying.

But I couldn't stop.

Alcohol was one of the few things that numbed the fear and misery, that quieted the cruel voices from inside and outside my head. I needed it just to keep going.

My grades actually began to slip. Since I first started at Hogwarts, I'd always been the very top of my class, but I started to not give a damn anymore. I just didn't see the point in homework, and studying, and showing up for lessons. Why should I work hard to earn high marks when the only thing I could do with them would be to grow up to join the society that hated me so much? The society that never wanted me and never would? The society that's prejudice and corruption had turned me into what I was?

On the plus side, I hadn't had anymore hallucinations, just occasional voices that I was unsure of...

With my relationship with the twins so rocky, I found myself alone a lot, therefore giving Oliver the opportunity to find me alone for a fuck pretty much whenever he felt like it.

I should've minded.

I didn't.

Meaningless sex quickly became just another thing I was addicted to. It helped me to forget, to just let go and feel good amidst all the bad.

It was the middle of December, a Friday, and I'd skived off of my Charms exam to meet Oliver underneath the quidditch stands. The weather was still gray and freezing. A few feet of stale, trampled snow were on the ground, so abused that they were no longer white, but a dirty grayish-brown.

I was still wearing last year's too-small uniform. I had a scarf, but no robe, arms and legs bare to the frigid winds. I was shivering quite violently by the time I finally made it to the bleachers, my tan skin prickling all over with gooseflesh.

Almost as soon as I stepped into the cool, slatted shadow, I was grabbed from behind and pushed face first against one of the thick wood posts, my satchel falling off my shoulder and into the dirty snow. "You're late," Oliver's familiar, deep Scottish brogue rumbled hotly against my ear, the boy's firm chest flush against my back. He was already letting one of his broad, rough hands trail up the inside of my thigh as the other kept my body pinned against the cold wood. My hair fell over my eyes, closing off reality.

"Got held up," I responded breathlessly, letting the heat of Oliver's body push away thoughts of how Remus cornered me after lunch, how he tried to talk me into going back to the shrink, how he looked so sad and tired...

"Fuck, feels good," I gasped, arching my back as Oliver squeezed one tit and let his fingers finally dip into my cunt. Thinking was becoming more and more impossible as I just surrendered myself to the feel of everything around me and that was utterly perfect.

Chuckling hotly as he licked my neck, the brawny keeper ground his hips against my arse and responded, "Gagging for it, aren't you?"

I moaned, smirking as I baited, "You gonna shut up and fuck me, or do I have to find someone else to do it?"

With a deep growl, his grip on my boob tightened almost painfully, causing me to cry out as the bare skin of my stomach fused with the frost on the thick post I was trapped against. "Bitch," Oliver spat, flipping up the back of my skirt and unzipping his fly all in the same graceful, highly-coordinated movement. I laughed, reaching back to touch him as I taunted again, "That sounds like a complaint, _Captain_."

"Arms above your head," He ordered gruffly, seizing both my wrists in one of his hands when I obeyed, holding them firmly against the cold wood. With his free hand, he seized my hip hard enough to leave more of the little finger-shaped bruises I'd become used to seeing over the past few months and he thrust roughly into me. Oliver was never gentle. I don't think he was capable of it.

Whimpering, I bit my lip to keep from screaming out loud as I was pounded flat against the pillar, as my eyes slammed shut and I let sensation overtake me. For the next half hour, there was no outside world, no fugitive fathers, no traitorous uncles, no feuding best friends. There was just raw nerve ends igniting in fire, moans and low cries of ecstasy as I came over and over on Oliver Wood's cock.

Later, after awkward cleaning spells and the straightening of clothing, the owner of said cock shot me a charming smile as he asked, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Let's see," I mused thoughtfully, wrapping my arms around my thin frame as I flicked some shaggy blonde hair out of my blue-gray eyes, "Saturday... that means an all-day sleepathon, possibly broken up by sporadic instances of reluctant consciousness and heavy alcohol consumption. Why do you ask?"

"Well," He said, putting a muscular arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. I knew that it was bad to let him do stuff like that, let him think what was going on between us was anything more than sex, but I was freezing as sweat cooled on my skin and he was _so fucking warm_. I couldn't help but lean into the embrace. Just when I'd gotten comfortable, he continued, "I was thinking that maybe you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"Think again," I muttered, pulling away and trying not to groan with annoyance. We'd had this conversation several times already. I wanted our pseudo relationship a secret and Oliver took every available opportunity to try to talk me out of my decision.

"Why not?" He argued, obviously displeased by my reaction. Moving to gather my dropped satchel, I impatiently answered, "I've already told you."

"It's not a sodding marriage proposal," He growled in frustration, grabbing me and pinning me back up against the pillar, face-to-face this time, "I just want to have a normal date with you. What we're doing, it's weird. And I hate feeling like some pervert who's taking advantage."

Resolved, I gazed unflinchingly back up into his brown eyes. He was only a few inches taller than me, with a handsome, rugged face that could be threatening or sweet depending on his mood. At the moment, it was just irritated.

"Again with the complaints, Captain," I teased, giving my best wicked smirk as well as a firm roll of my hips against his in the hopes of distracting him, "A girl might think you actually have a problem with being fucked twice or more times a day."

His expression wavered for the briefest second, lust blazing in his dark eyes. But then, just like that, it was gone and he'd released me. Stepping back, he ran blunt fingers through his thick brown hair, taking a deep, calming breath before countering harshly, "And a guy might think you're embarrassed to be seen with him in public."

"It's not like that," I said, barely managing to resist rolling my eyes at his little hissy fit, "I deal with enough shit from people just being me. I don't want to be anymore in the forefronts of anyone's minds by having them think we're together."

Nostrils flaring as his fists clenched at his sides, the boy's broad chest heaved with a few harsh breaths and he accused, "And we're not really together, are we?"

I met his gaze, answering flatly, "No, we're not." The situation wasn't fair to Oliver at all. He was a nice guy, even though he was slow and bit dull. He had feelings and I was ignoring them. If anyone was taking advantage, it was me.

But, again, I couldn't bring myself to care. I knew Oliver wanted a girlfriend, but I didn't want a boyfriend. All I wanted was someone to fuck me until I couldn't remember my own name, let alone the man who'd given it to me.

Not waiting for Oliver to respond, I moved away from him, recovering my satchel again and digging through it until I found a pack of cigarettes. Yes, yet another destructive habit, so sue me.

I took one out and lit it with the tip of my wand, inhaling a long, slow drag as I let the simple action relax me. My lungs filled with harsh, sour smoke, and I slowly let a hazy cloud of it out into the gray winter air.

"Do you have to do that?" Oliver sniped, bothered by my new bent. He stepped away, coughing slightly and I could see his eyes water. "It's really bad for you," He added frankly.

I shrugged and took another long drag.

"Fine," He finally sighed, clearly fed-up with me, giving up, thank Merlin, "I'll see you tonight, ok? And let me know if you change your mind." He turned those big brown eyes of his on me, giving a heart-melting half smile as he announced, "It really would mean a lot."

"Sure," I said, unaffected by his charm and not bothering to watch as he walked out from under the bleachers. I continued to just smoke in silence.

Not even a full minute later, I heard, "Stella Eris Black, that had _better not_ be what I think it is in your hand!"

Wincing, I turned to see George storming towards me, hugging himself in a thick, blue Weasley jumper as he glared menacingly. "That all depends on what you think it is," I answered combatively, jutting my chin out in defiance as I took yet another puff.

The stocky redhead ripped the cigarette away from my lips, throwing it to the ground and stomping it out as I indignantly shouted, "OY!"

"What the hell were you doing with Wood?" He demanded suspiciously, ignoring my cry of protest as he eyed over my shivering, disheveled form, "I thought you couldn't stand him."

"Ya, well," I answered, already irritated with the conversation, "The more brain cells I kill, the more tolerable he becomes. Was there something in particular that you wanted, or have you just taken up following me around for fun again?"

With an exasperated sigh, George replied coldly, "You know what I want. Hand over the map and stop taking it without asking."

"But you always say no when I ask," I teased, digging the familiar roll of parchment that was the Marauders' Map out of my bag, "And I only took it because I don't like being spied on, though you seem to have had no problems tracking me down anyways."

"I'm trying to keep you out of trouble," He argued, snatching the map away and stuffing it in his back pocket. Blowing on his cupped hands to warm them up, he scowled at me and continued, "You have no idea how much it sucks, but someone has to look out for you until you start seeing some sense."

"A million thanks, noble savior. Your heroics know no bounds," I mocked, curtsying sarcastically before pushing past him to leave.

Grabbing my arm, George spun me back to face him. He was angry, but he was also worried and scared, and suddenly it wasn't even the least bit funny anymore. I could no longer look into his kind blue eyes.

"How are you, Stel?" He pressed, his grip loosening as his voice softened. Unable to meet his penetrating gaze, I shrugged, muttering, "Alright, I guess."

Not seeming to believe me, George went on, "Did you eat anything today?" I had to actually think on that for a few moments, admitting quietly, "No. I wasn't hungry."

He pulled a wrapped sandwich out of his pocket, pushing it into my hands and staring at me until I grudgingly began to eat it. He then asked, "Where's your robe?"

"Lost it," I confessed sadly, my mouth full of ham and cheese. Just a few bites in and I was already feeling nauseas.

George rummaged through his own bag for a few moments, finally producing another worn blue jumper with a big gold G on it and handing it to me as he stated, "Here. It doesn't fit anymore, so you can just have it."

Suddenly finding myself biting back tears as I took the sweater from my friend and pulled it over my head, I responded, "Thanks, Georgie." He gave me a weak smile, stating, "No problem, Stel. I'm here for anything you need, ok?"

I nodded. He tugged me to him in a warm, reassuring hug, kissing me softly on the cheek. For a few moments, I thought I was going to break down crying just from how good he felt. It was a different kind of good than sex. It was more... comfort, and love, and caring. I didn't have to escape the real world because having George hold me like that made me feel like the real world was a lot more bearable. I never wanted it to end.

"What are you doing for the hols?" He asked, swaying us gently and thankfully not moving to pull away. I shrugged, shivering when he tucked a shaggy shock of blonde hair behind my ear.

Tightening his grip in an effort to fight the cold from my body, George then offered, "You want to come home with us? It'll be real fun. Promise."

"I dunno," I responded skeptically, laying my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes as I listened to his heart beat, "You sure Fred won't mind?"

"It was his idea," George countered, rubbing my back, "He's too scared to ask though. He thinks you're mad at him."

I shook my head, arguing, "I'm not. I thought he was mad at me."

"Ya," The freckled beater chuckled, "I got that. The both of you are nutters. So what do you say? Christmas at the Burrow?"

The first real smile in months came across my face, and I hummed happily, "Sounds absolutely wonderful."

xxXxx

The next day was the Hogsmeade visit, and I skipped it. Oliver threw a little fit and ended up going with some brunette from his own year, who, I heard, ended up slapping him for touching her tit. He was trying to make me jealous. It didn't work, and that boy was really starting to get on my nerves.

While I was lying in bed, trying and failing to sleep through the chilly Saturday, the twins were out doing something they'd been talking about since before Halloween: making it so I couldn't abuse the Marauders' Map any longer.

They gave it to Harry, even though they were both still a little pissed about how he was treating me. See, that was the genius in the plan. Anyone else in the school, I would've probably just stolen it back from. Harry was different. I didn't want to do anything to make him hate me anymore, and therefore wouldn't risk taking the map from him. Hell, I couldn't even work up the courage to try to talk to him anymore because I couldn't handle the insults he'd scream at me whenever I did.

The twins are a lot smarter than most people give them credit for.

But, of course, I did not find out about any of that until after we got back from break. At the time, I was just sleeping away the hours until I'd finally get to leave for the Burrow. For the first time in a while, I was actually looking forward to something.

Sunday was end of term and the train ride back to London. It was a slow, comfortable journey, and I spent it sitting on the ground between Fred's legs, the both of us silent as I snuggled into his brother's worn blue jumper and he played with my hair. We didn't say anything to make up because, apparently, we were never fighting. We only thought we were.

I'm aware that that's odd and doesn't make much sense, but it's the only way I can explain what happened.

We were met at King's Cross by Mrs. Weasley, who _immediately_ started in on me for being so skinny. I tried hard not to be too annoyed that a woman who I'd only met briefly on two other occasions was being so nosy and overbearing.

Once we got to the Burrow, the first thing she did was pull me into the kitchen and make me a sandwich. Only when I finished it did she allow the twins to rescue me and give a tour of their home.

I liked their room a lot. It was cute and just very _the twins_, while still managing to showcase their individual personalities. Fred's side had more books and piles of big fluffy pillows on his bed. George's sported significantly more scorch marks on the wood floor, though it was a bit tidier.

"Mum said you could use Ron's room since he decided to stay at Hogwarts," Fred announced, yawning as he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down into his bed with him, "But we'll show you where it is later."

"Ya," George agreed, flopping down into his own nearly bare mattress, "Right now it's time for a _loooooong_ nap."

Snickering as I cuddled into Fred and his ridiculously comfortable mound of pillows, I agreed, "Sounds good to me." The afternoon nap should be an institution everywhere.

xxXxx

We slept and just hung out there in the beds on and off until dinner. It was so nice and so much fun. I loved being with my two best friends. I'd missed them; they were good at making me happy, and that's what I really needed most during that long, awful year.

Percy came and got us when Mrs. Weasley decided it was time to eat, and then I had to sit through a meal with her and the twins constantly trying to sneak more food onto my plate. It was annoying, but I knew it was only because they cared about me so I just let it go.

No one went to bed until pretty late. The twins' older brothers, Bill and Charlie, were supposed to be coming, and they were supposed to show up sometime that night. Everyone tried to stay up so they could greet them. Ginny played chess with Percy; the twins pestered their mother while she watched the family clock thing for any sign of movement from either of her two eldest son's hands. I hung out with Mr. Weasley, explaining my CD player and letting him listen to it for a bit. All in all, it was a very nice, relaxing evening.

But, around midnight, Mrs. Weasley decided that Bill and Charlie probably wouldn't make it until the next morning so we should all just go to bed. The twins led me upstairs to Ron's room, which was on the fifth floor at the top of a narrow staircase and adorned in glaring orange Chudley Canons memorabilia. I had no idea that his obsession with the Canons went so deep as to extend to the decor of his entire room. It smelled funny, too, though I couldn't quite put my finger on what the smell was...

"Well, love," George stated, yawning as he hugged and kissed me goodnight, "Sweet dreams."

"Feel free to wake us if you need _anything_," Fred added, giving me a hug and kiss as well, putting far too much emphasis on 'anything.' George snorted, "Speak for yourself, mate. I'm absolutely beat. The house had better be on fire if anyone wants to wake me up." Snorting in return as he shoved his brother out of the room, Fred replied, "Lazy prat. Night, Stel."

"Night boys," I yawned, shutting the door behind them and then rifling through my trunk for some suitable pajamas. Despite the nap, I was knackered, so I just grabbed the first ones I found, which happened to be a rather immodest white tank top and pair of red flannel shorts. Then I shut off the lights, crawled into bed, and waited for sleep to claim me.

I didn't have to wait very long.

xxXxx

I shot upright in bed, breathing hard and suddenly feeling like my skin was absolutely _crawling_. Despite being asleep, I'd just realized what the funny smell in Ron's room was: rat. His room smelled like rat and I hate rats...

Alright, it's more like a deathly phobia I've had for as long as I can remember, but that doesn't change the fact that there was no way in hell I was staying in a room that smelled of them.

Shivering slightly as my bare feet met the cold floor, I got up out of bed and walked briskly out into the hall. I found the twins' room, carefully peeking in to find that they were both asleep. Even though Fred said to wake him for anything, I decided not to. I'd feel too guilty about waking him up just to complain that his little brother's room smelled. That is a bit crazy, even for me.

Realizing that I probably wouldn't be getting back to sleep and thinking that a glass of water might help me feel better, I wandered down to the kitchen, rubbing my bleary eyes as I stumbled towards the cabinet where the cups were kept. I grabbed one, filled it up in the sink, and was already drinking when I turned around as saw that two redheaded men were sitting at the table. They were both staring intently, and startled the living daylights out of me.

I choked, spitting water all down the front of my tank top and descending into a violent coughing fit. I barely heard the sounds of two chairs scraping against the floor as they were pushed back and their occupants leapt to my rescue, both slapping me lightly on the back as they asked if I was alright. Forgive me for not remembering the exact words as I was doubled over and more than a little starved for oxygen at the time.

"Merlin," I finally gasped a few minutes later, laughing slightly and finally managing to stand upright, "What a way to make a first impression!" Both men cracked smiles, giving me time to look them over as I continued to catch my breath.

The one on my left was thin but muscular, and very tall, probably over 6'6". He was handsome in an easy, classic sort of way, with a long nose, sculpted cheekbones, blues eyes, freckles, and long bright red hair that was neatly tied with a strip of leather at the nape of his elegant neck. A dragon fang earring hung from his left earlobe, and the leather jacket he wore looked a bit tatty but very cool, as were his dusty jeans and dragon hide boots. From all the complaints I'd listened to from Mrs. Weasley about how she wanted to give him a haircut, I was sure he must be Bill.

His brother was dressed similarly, though he wore no jacket over his plain white t-shirt, his jeans were ripped and scorched to shreds, and his old hiking boots had mud caked on them, which I finally saw he'd tracked through the room. I couldn't help but smirk over the tongue-lashing he'd inevitably catch from his mother in the morning. The second Weasley boy was also very handsome, but in a more rugged sort of way. He had a strong, square jaw, a broad, slightly crooked nose, an endearing lopsided smile, and big ears that stuck out from his head just a little too much. He bore the Weasley trademark bright red hair, though it was buzzed to near non-existence, and clear blue eyes. His freckles were far more severe than the rest of his family's, so thick that they made him look like had a dark tan. He was shorter than me by a few inches, with a stocky, obviously muscular build that reminded me of the twins'. He had shiny burn scars on his forearms. Since Charlie was the dragon tamer, I assumed he must be Charlie.

"Hello," I said, crossing my arms to offer a hand to both of them at once, "You must be Bill and Charlie. I'm Stella, and it's nice to meet you, though I wish I wouldn't have gone and spit up on myself."

Both laughed, shaking my hands firmly as they tried to discretely eye me up and down. Bill was the first to speak, all charm as he cooed, "No worries, love. It's very nice to meet you as well."

"A pleasure," Charlie added, his voice a bit deeper than his older brother's. Flashing a wide, somewhat dopey grin as his ears turned lightly pink, the man continued, "Sorry if we scared you. No one told us Percy was bringing a girl home... never would've seen that coming..."

"Percy?" I gaped, trying not to wrinkle my nose in disgust and annoyance (No offense to Percy or anything but... ew). "No, no," I corrected, stepping back as my hands fell to my hips, "I'm friends with the twins. They invited me."

The elder Weasley boys shared curious glances, Bill finally raising one sculpted ginger eyebrow as he inquired disbelievingly, "The twins? That would make you... fifteen?"

"Fourteen, actually," I stated, slightly amused by the way their eyes bugged out of their heads, "I'll be fifteen in April."

"Wow," Charlie muttered, his ears and cheeks turning flaming red as he very abruptly dropped his gaze to the floor, "I thought you were much older." Chuckling, I replied, "Ya, I get that a lot. It comes in handy since no one's ever thought to card me anywhere."

Bill laughed, elbowing his brother as he joked, "A real wild child, eh? Bet you've got some good stories on our ickle brothers. Care to sit down and share a few?"

"Sure," I agreed sweetly, happy to have found an excuse not to return to Ron's rat-smelling room. Proving to be a real gentleman, Bill pulled out a chair for me and held it while I sat. I smiled at him over my shoulder, crossing my long legs as I watched him and his brother assume the seats they'd been in before. They weren't exactly as they'd been before, however: Bill had a slightly mesmerized expression on his face and Charlie was still beet red, trying to look everywhere but at me.

Thoughtfully chewing on my bottom lip, I stated, "Let's see, stories about the twins... Well, did they ever tell you how we met on the train my first year?"

Hehe, I will never get tired of that one...

xxXxx

I chatted happily with Bill and Charlie until late in the morning. It was great fun. They were both very nice.

Bill was a bit of a flirt and a charmer, but I've heard the same said about me so that could be why we got along so well. He was a cursebreaker, and I delighted in being able to discuss his profession with him. I think he was surprised that my blonde hair grew out of an actual brain, but, after the initial shock, seemed rather impressed with me. I guess it wasn't every day he ran into fourteen-year-old girls who thought Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and History were absolutely fascinating.

Charlie was more shy and uncomfortable around me, still having trouble with his blushing and unable to meet my gaze for quite awhile. He only finally relaxed when I got him to tell me about his dragons. After that it was impossible to get him to shut up. He was truly passionate about what he did and spoke zealously about a new piece of legislation he was working on that would offer stricter punishments for anyone found poaching his beloved dragons. Actually, he referred to such people with a long string of expletives that really is too colorful for me to repeat, no matter how accurate and funny it was. Again, I think he liked me because I agreed with his views and also had a fondness for animals (all except rats).

Mrs. Weasley came down in her bathrobe at about nine thirty, her weathered face immediately breaking into an elated smile upon seeing her two eldest sons seated at the kitchen table. "Bill! Charlie!" She cried, launching herself at them and trapping both men into bone-crushing hugs, "You're here! Oh, thank Merlin! My boys are home!"

"Ouch, Mum," Charlie grumbled, flushing slightly pink but unable to stop himself from smiling and hugging her back, "Missed you, too, but I could do without the strangling."

"You haven't been home in two years," The old woman scolded, a blissful expression on her face as she merely hugged them tighter, "I'm allowed to strangle you if I bloody well please."

Laughing, Bill gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before greeting, "Good to be home, Mum. Now, how about some breakfast?"

With a snort, Mrs. Weasley finally released her sons, kissing them both several times before drifting towards the stove and remarking, "Food, food, food. That's all you really come home for, isn't it?" Bill flashed me a wide grin, winking as he argued, "Of course not. We come home for the engaging company."

I snickered, getting up from my seat as I inquired, "Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh, dear, I already told you, call me Molly," She scolded brightly, magicing pans onto the stove. After flicking some butter into her old skillet, she turned around and answered, "And of course you can help. Why don't you set the table and-" She cut herself off when she saw me, her blue eyes growing slightly large. I don't think she approved of my pajamas because she added somewhat darkly, "You must be _freezing_ in that! Go get dressed right this instant! I'll not have you getting ill on my watch!"

"Alright," I stated grudgingly, shrugging as I went for the stairs. As I was leaving, I heard Bill quietly groan, "_Muuum_, what'd you do that for?" I was giggling as I heard his mother respond, "Oh, hush! Do you have any idea who old that girl is? It is entirely inappropriate to be traipsing about half-dressed in front of grown men!"

"No complaints here," I heard Charlie respond, sounding a bit distracted as he leaned around the corner to watch me climb the stairs.

In a good mood despite the criticism of my attire, I bounded up to Ron's room and dressed quickly in jeans and a black long sleeve shirt, both of which were a bit tight and short on me. I was hoping that someone would send me some proper fitting clothes for Christmas.

After that, I fled Ron's rat-smelling room and happily made my way downstairs. I met up with the twins on the landing outside their room, both boys shirtless and yawning as they greeted, "Morning, Stel."

"Morning," I sang sweetly, situating myself between the boys and throwing an arm around each of their thick freckled necks. "Bill and Charlie are downstairs, and your mum is making breakfast," I announced, bending to give them each a quick peck on the cheek. They smiled, chiming together, "Wicked."

"Much better, dear," Mrs. Weasley stated as I came down the stairs with the twins. I smiled, and then went to fetch plates and silverware from where I helped put them away the night before. I got the table set in just a few minutes, and then, at the insistence of all present Weasleys (Percy, Ginny, and Mr. W had joined by then), took a seat at the table between Fred and George. We all spent the remainder of the morning laughing uproariously and stuffing ourselves full of some of the best pancakes I have ever tasted.

I loved being there with them. Everyone was nice to me, I never had to worry about who was talking behind my back or about to throw something at my head. The food was wonderful, and with the way that it was being shoved down my throat on every available opportunity I'm fairly sure I must've gained at least ten pounds during that week before Christmas.

Day passed quickly, spent either frolicking happily in the snow or holed up in the twins' room helping them experiment. I also had numerous opportunities to talk more with Bill and Charlie, who seemed to have taken a shine to me, as well as Mr. Weasley, who was fascinated by my knowledge of most things muggle, and Ginny, who adored having another girl around to just... well, be girly with. Even Percy wasn't so bad; sure, he was stuck-up, but he was also brilliant. We had quite a few extremely heated arguments over the way the Ministry of Magic was structured and, despite the fact that Mrs. Weasley had to send us to separate rooms to calm ourselves down, it really was rewarding intellectual conversation.

Evenings were fun as well. I enjoyed being able to just snuggle in front of the fire with Fred and George, sipping hot chocolate and laughing with their family. Charlie taught me chess and I taught him a Poker. Ginny and I painted each other's toes, and once we even did Mrs. Weasley's as well. All in all, I just had a really good time.

Nights, however, were an entirely different story. I was still too creeped out to sleep in Ron's room, the rat smell seeming to permeate ever dream I had, turning them all into nightmares about demonic, man-eating rodents chasing me down dark hallways. After two nights of that, I snuck into the twins' room and climbed into bed with Fred. That worked well and it was disturbingly wonderful to be able to fall asleep with his arms around me. He didn't mind, either. I asked him the next morning if he was bothered by having to share his bed with me. He answered with a flirty wink and the statement, "Ya, but in a _really_ good way." That was good enough for me, so I decided that I'd be sleeping in Fred's bed for the rest of break.

Mrs. Weasley caught me the second morning it happened though, and we had to sit through a long talk about how improper it was for a girl and boy our age to be sleeping in the same room together, let alone the same bed.

So the next night I found myself in Ron's room again, glaring at the orange walls and trying not to breathe through my nose as I paced until morning. I was ok with that. I mean, it wasn't ideal, but I could survive on little to no sleep until I went back to Hogwarts.

Again, the second night is where I ran into a problem. Apparently, Bill and Charlie's room is right below Ron's, and Bill was being kept awake by the sounds of the ceiling creaking above him. He came up to investigate.

"Stella?" He yawned quietly as he cracked the door open and poked his head in, "Is everything alright?" Startled, I turned around too quickly and ended up tripping over my own feet, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

"Oh, sorry," Bill laughed, crossing the room to help me up, "I didn't mean to scare you... again."

"No, it's alright," I soothed, cracking a smile as I got to my feet, "That would be my fault. I can be a bit clumsy." Chuckling, Bill replied, "At least you're not as bad as your cousin. I remember Tonks taking out twenty suits of armor with a single stumble."

Despite the fact that I hadn't spoken to her at all since summer, thoughts of my cousin put a smile on my face. I was still furious with her, but... I missed her.

"Well," I laughed, trying to push those thoughts out of my head, "I suppose it's good to hear that I'm not quite as bad as her... um... was there something you wanted?"

With a big, charming grin, Bill responded, "Just checking on you. My bedroom's right below this one, and-"

"Oh my gosh!" I cut him off, instantly feeling guilty, "I woke you up! I'm so sorry, Bill! I had no idea!"

"Don't worry," He soothed sweetly as he sat down in Ron's still made bed. Patting the mattress beside himself, the lanky, shirtless man went on, "I've always been a light sleeper. I've always been quite curious, too. So what's the matter?"

Shrugging, I took the seat and responded, "It's nothing." In a rather brotherly gesture, he prodded me lightly in the side and laughed at me as he argued, "It's obviously not nothing or else we'd both be sleeping... though maybe still not me. I almost forgot how loud Chaz snores."

I managed a giggle at the remark, feeling very at ease in Bill's presence. He was nice, and just had that way about him. "It's just..." I admitted quietly, "I'm sort of terrified of rats..."

"Ah," Bill stated, catching on quickly, "And my baby brother's room does smell rather strongly of them, doesn't it?" With a weak nod, I said, "Ya, and... I don't know... I didn't want to make a fuss, but it was giving me nightmares."

"Can't have that," The redhead reported firmly, plucking his wand out of the waistband of his flannel pajama pants. With a quick wave and incantation, the room suddenly smelled like the inside of a candy store. Feeling a little stupid, I blushed and chuckled, "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're not supposed to be doing magic outside of school, young miss," Bill teased, winking. I suddenly couldn't stop giggling as I reported, "Doesn't mean I don't." We shared brief conspiratorial smirks.

"Thank you," I said, giving him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, "It was really nice of you." He turned a little pink, but still looked pleased with himself, standing as he reported, "No trouble, love. Get some sleep now."

Smiling, I slipped under the covers as Bill walked out, turning off the light as he left. "Sweet dreams," He called lightly, leaving me to answer the same as I drifted off to sleep.

xxXxx

Everything was smooth sailing for a few days. I was still having unbelievable amounts of fun with the twins and their family, and I was also getting enough sleep at night. All was right with the world... well, within the sub-world of the Burrow anyways.

Before long it was Christmas morning, and I woke to find two giggling, freckled masses of teenage boy bouncing excitedly on either side of me.

"CHRISTMAS!" George squealed, grabbing me by the arm and trying to yank me out of bed. He wasn't successful seeing as how Fred grabbed my other arm at the same time and tried to yank me out the opposite direction, shouting, "GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!"

"Ouch!" I moaned, laughing between the vicious tugs that were threatening to split me right in half, "I'm up! Stop trying to tear me in two!"

"Hmm..." George hummed thoughtfully, not bothering to let go, "That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. One Stella for each of us, right twin?"

"I'm intrigued," Fred responded, making a big show of scratching a nonexistent beard on his strong square jaw, "No more of this _sharing_ nonsense..."

"Oy!" I chuckled, finally wriggling free and ducking out from two tackles as I ran from the room. Over my shoulder, I teasingly called, "Hasn't your mother ever told you that good boys share?" I saw the twins exchange devilish smirks, chasing after me as they chimed, "No one ever said we were good boys!"

Giggling and shrieking, I ran quickly down five flights of stairs with Fred and then George right behind me. The living room was already packed with Weasleys, who I used to my advantage as I avoided the twins. I zigzagged between the amused, coffee-slurping parentals and then employed Ginny as a human shield, both of us cackling joyously as I maneuvered her small frame in between me and her pair of crazed brothers.

"What _are_ you doing?" I heard Percy ask haughtily as he followed us down the stairs a few moments later. "Gonna catch Stel. Cut her in half," Fred replied impatiently, a wide grin on his handsome freckled face. With an identical mischievous expression, George finished, "One for each of us. Don't have to share no more."

"Oh, for the the love of..." Mrs. Weasley chuckled warmly, "You boys and your crazy ideas..."

"Help!" I laughed, feeling playful as I ducked out from behind Ginny and ran to shelter myself between Bill and Charlie, "I don't want to be cut in half! Two of me means twice the homework!"

"Twice the presents though," Bill supplied helpfully, flashing a sweet grin. I giggled and smacked him on the arm, ducking out from another pair of grabs before finally finding myself face-to-face with Percy. I paused and then cracked up when I saw his fuzzy blue bunny slippers--a gift from Ginny, I later found out.

The twins used the momentary distraction to tackle me roughly into the couch, somehow managing to straddle me side-by-side as they both tickled me fiercely. Gasping and convulsing, I could barely draw breath and was giggling so hard that speech was nearly impossible.

"AH! HAHAHA! ST-STO-AHHAHA! STOP!" I choked, writhing beneath the twins, squirming and bucking my hips and doing anything I could think of to get them off me. It was futile. Individually each one was twice my weight and strong as an ox. Together they were an inescapable force of nature. I was quite screwed.

And then I suddenly wasn't. Blinking through hysterical tears of laughter and trying desperately to catch my breath, I looked up and saw that Charlie was holding both twins off the ground by the scruffs of their necks. Wow. Chivalrous _and_ super-human strong. I'll be damned if that wasn't kind of hot...

"Shouldn't you two be picking on someone your own size?" Charlie inquired flatly, smirking as he sent rather pointed looks between his two little brothers. Struggling with his feet several inches off the carpet, Fred pouted, "But we like picking on Stella."

"Ya," George agreed eagerly, sounding like he was being choked a bit by the collar of his white t-shirt, "Nobody squeals like Stella... well, except maybe Ginny, but we got in trouble last time we made her."

"Because you hid a garden gnome in my bed!" Ginny grumbled crossly, munching on a variety of sweets from a present she'd already opened. At the memory, the twins snickered jointly.

I'd finally caught my breath, jumping up to my feet to grin evilly at the trapped pair. I stood on the couch and leaned forward to peck Charlie on the forehead, singing sweetly, "Thank you. Last time they decided they were in the mood to tickle me I ended up nearly wetting myself."

Charlie blushed crimson all the way up to his hairline, so shocked that he dropped the twins and then stuttered, "Y-You're, um, you're welcome." The man was strong and rugged and fierce, but still just a shy little boy at heart. It was really rather adorable.

And with that, I hopped down from the couch and dove into my presents. Probably at the prompting of Tonks, Auntie Andromeda and Uncle Ted sent me some sorely needed new uniforms. Tonks herself sent ridiculous amounts of candy, as well as some cute casual clothes that actually fit me. Remus sent lots of books, and chocolate, and a new robe.

I'm not heartless. Even though I was fighting with most of my family, I sent them presents as well. Everyone got homemade fudge Mrs. Weasley helped me make a few days earlier. It was fantastically yummy. I also sent Remus a rare book I knew he wanted that I'd found at a rummage sale on a walk through the muggle town with the twins. Auntie Andromeda and Uncle Ted got a pretty framed landscape from the same rummage sale, and I made Tonks a funky patchwork skirt out of some of my old clothes that I'd either outgrown completely or worn out.

Harry didn't get me anything that year. I didn't expect him to, since he was still convinced I was conspiring against him, but I sent the crazy boy a broom servicing kit.

As I sat there amidst all the wrapping paper and happiness, I couldn't help missing my family. I really hoped they liked the little I'd gotten them.

"Stella!" George called out, flopping down beside me wearing his new blue Weasley sweater--courtesy of his mum, of course, and complete with the obligatory gold G label--as well as a bright fuchsia bobble hat--courtesy of Ginny and her burgeoning knitting skills. He flashed me a wide smile, thrusting a present into my hands as he ordered, "Mine next!"

I laughed, giving him his gift--a magically enhanced joke buzzer and charmed squirting lapel flower I was sure he'd enjoy--before inspecting the package. It was an odd wrapping job, but George's always are since he has a knack for picking oddly-shaped presents. A sheet of shiny purple foil was folded and taped into a long, skinny envelope with a bulge in the middle and on one end. The form reminded me somewhat of a belt, but it was far too small for that. I mean, the twins were still giving me flack about my unhealthy weight, but George would have to be blind to think that thing would fit around my waist. I guess maybe it would, if I wasn't so fond of circulation...

But I opened it and was relieved to see that it was not a belt. It was a dog collar, black leather and spike studded, with a blank metal star-shaped tag hanging from the middle. "For your puppy," He explained proudly, already having the time of his life using the charmed flower to squirt Charlie with water from across the room, not to mention experimentally shocking himself on the leg with the buzzer, "I'll do the engraving charm on the tag when you finally pick a name."

"It's wonderful!" I cried, leaning over to trap him in a big hug, managing to get the front of my shirt soaked in the process. Not minding all that much, I hummed against his neck, "Thanks, Georgie!" It was a great gift, and it made me wish I'd brought my dog with me instead of leaving him, along with my turtle, in Hagrid's capable hands. I sent the groundskeeper some fudge and a National Geographic picture book about sharks as a thank you.

"My turn," Fred sang happily as he slid to the floor behind me, hugging my body to his broad chest and resting his chin on my shoulder. He produced a small, square box that fit right into the palm of my hand. The paper he wrapped it in was a beautiful deep blue, with silver stars all over it, and the whole thing was tied with a frilly silver bow.

I turned to grin at my friend, giving him his present: a large encyclopedia of practical jokes and a framed picture of him and me posing with an anatomically correct snowman we'd made earlier in the week while George pelts us with snowballs from the corner. My favorite part of the picture is when Ginny runs through, seizes the carrot, and takes a big chomping bite of it. Anyways, as Fred made short work of the wrapping paper on his gift, I delved into mine.

After the bow and paper fell away I found a little black felt ring box and inside the ring box I found, you guessed it, a ring. A bed of soft black felt held a thin silver band connected at the top by a delicate silver star.

"Oh," I cooed happily, automatically slipping it onto my right ring finger, "Freddie, it's so pretty! I love it!" Almost as soon as it touched my skin, the previously empty interior of the star suddenly burst with color, flashing through the whole spectrum of the rainbow before finally settling on a swirling mixture of bright pinks and purples. I was absolutely mesmerized.

Fred smiled against my neck, taking my small hand in his and gently brushing his thumb across my knuckles as he proudly stated, "I got the idea from those muggle mood rings we saw at the rummage sale. They were cool, but they didn't work, so I made one myself. You get to be the test dummy, and if they work, then me and George will have another product for when we open our own shop."

"It's great," I stated happily, "So what do pink and purple mean?" Sounding rather pleased with himself, Fred reported, "Purple is happy and pink is loved. Red is embarrassed, orange is angry, yellow is hyper, light green is sick or in pain, dark green is stressed, light blue is calm, dark blue is bored, black is scared, white is sad, gray is lonely, and brown is confused. And the intensity of the color will tell how strongly you're feeling each emotion."

"Wow," I hummed, incredibly impressed as I watched the swirling pinks and purples throb brighter inside the star, "This is really complicated magic. It must've taken you forever."

"Ya, well," He replied, blushing as he squirmed and hugged me tighter, "I thought it would be perfect for you and then I had to make it. In case you're ever not talking to me again, I'll still be able to tell how you're feeling." Sighing sadly, I responded, "I'm sorry for that, you know? Everything just got really out of hand."

"I do know," He stated quietly, pecking me swiftly on the cheek, "I'm sorry, too. I flew off the handle about the drinking thing, but you just really scared me. You're my best friend and I love you. I don't want to see you hurt."

I smiled softly, announcing, "Right now, I'm perfect, so thanks for that."

"Here you go, Stel," Bill cut in, dropping two overly large bags of assorted candies into my lap. With a bright grin, he stated, "From me and Charlie. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas!" I laughed back, throwing him and Charlie each a wrapped package. Bill got an Indiana Jones adventure novel and Charlie got several comic books. Merlin bless rummage sales; I'd never be able to afford Christmas without them. All the gifts I got for the other members of the Weasley family I got there as well. Mr. Weasley got two encyclopedia volumes--E and P because I thought he'd appreciate being able to look up electricity and plug. Mrs. Weasley got a southwestern cookbook. Percy got an old copy of _Gulliver's Travels_. Ginny got a pretty pair of dangly earrings.

It was a fantastic morning. Other gifts I received included a pair of cozy purple mittens from Mrs. Weasley, a matching hat and scarf from Ginny, a package of sugar quills from Percy, and an old Sex Pistols 8-track cartridge from Mr. Weasley. I had nothing to play it on, but it was still pretty cool just to have. All in all, I was utterly content. If I could've frozen that moment to keep forever in my pocket, I would have.

I could've done without the bottle of vodka Oliver sent me. Up until that point, I'd pretty much completely forgotten he existed, and I also hadn't had a drink or cigarette since I left Hogwarts. I didn't need to be reminded of the mess I'd gotten myself into with him, and I really didn't need the added hassle of having to hide and resist a large bottle of alcohol while in a room full of Weasleys.

Of course, I sent him condoms. He was probably engaged in a rousing Christmas morning game of Hide-the-Contraband himself, so I guess I really shouldn't complain.

"Here's one more for you, Stel," George reported as he crawled out from beneath the otherwise present-free tree, tinsel and pine needles sticking out from his shaggy red hair. He held out a large flat box wrapped in brown packing paper. Not having expected anything else, I gave the gift a curious shake as I asked, "Who's it from?"

"Doesn't say," George shrugged, flopping down on my left and biting into a licorice wand as Fred, juggling three big mugs of eggnog, returned to sit on my right. As he distributed the wonderful-smelling beverages among us, he laughed impatiently, "Come on, Stel, open it already."

And I did. And I soon as I saw what was inside, my mouth _dropped._ A hand flew up to cover the sobbing gasp as tears sprang into my eyes.

Seeming very concerned, George leaned over my shoulder and asked, "What is it?"

Trance-like, almost unable to find my voice, I whispered, "A leather jacket."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

WOOOOOO! Fun stuff. So, I'm back at college. I don't know how often you guys can expect updates, but I'll do my very best.

Review may make my dorm room less sweltering hot. Help me out here people; I've already lost several percent of my body weight through sweat.


	9. Deadly Weapon

Part 9 - Deadly Weapon

The year he broke out of Azkaban, my dad sent me a jacket for Christmas. It was beautiful, soft, supple black leather with thick silver zippers and snaps all over. Bill said it was a motorcycle jacket, and it was warm and wonderful, with a pale satin lining that matched my eyes exactly and was stuffed with cushy down. I could sit outside as snow fell, as winds howled and blew ice against my flushed cheeks and not get cold.

Snuggling into the exquisite warmth, I slowly turned over the note I'd found in the pocket. The small scrap of parchment only had two blotchy, crooked words on it:

_Never forget._

It was the second note of its kind I'd gotten. The first had been left in my hand when I fell asleep near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I had no idea what it meant or where it had come from, so I ignored it.

Things were quite obvious now. The notes were from my dad, and I suddenly could remember quite vividly what they were referring to...

_My dad had just discovered James and Lily were dead, and he was devastated. After hours of pacing our kitchen, he decided that he had to leave, he had to track down Peter if he wanted any hope of retaining his freedom, of avenging his best friends._

_I wandered in and saw him crying, and he ended up comforting me before tucking me back into bed. Even as a two-year-old, I knew something was wrong._

_I didn't want him to go, and tried to grab him and make him stay, but I was too tired, melting into my tiny bed as I gazed up at the pinpricks of light reflecting off his blue-gray eyes in the otherwise dark room. He kissed me on the forehead, mumbling hotly against my skin, "I love you, my brave girl. Always. Never forget."_

_I closed my eyes, murmuring softly, "Never. Love you, Daddy."_

That was the last time I saw him.

I thought he'd forgotten me but he hadn't. He knew, somehow, that I needed to hear from him, to be reassured that my daddy still loved me, that he would _never forget_, and that I shouldn't either. And he found a way. I put the note back in my left pocket, leaving my hands in the warmth there as I stared out into the pure white landscape.

"Stella," Fred's voice interrupted my reverie, and I turned to find him and George hugging themselves just a few steps away. I was only a few feet from the back door of the Burrow, leaning against the house and seated on a bench that was nearly engulfed in a snow drift. However, the twins were shivering and struggling to stomp their way over to sit with me.

"You ok?" George asked cautiously, sweeping a seat for himself on my left. Fred did the same on my right, waiting eagerly for a response. "I'm fine," I stated, still off in my own thoughts.

I was pulled out of them when Fred tugged my right hand out of the soft, warm depths of the front pocket of my jacket. He gingerly inspected the charmed mood ring he'd given me just a few hours earlier, seeing that the inside of the delicate silver star was swirled with pink, gray, and brown. It wasn't a particularly pleasant combination of colors, but it wasn't entirely horrible either; it had its own sad sort of appeal.

"Loved, but lonely and confused," He announced clinically before looking up into my face, "I'd say that's a pretty accurate description... you really think the jacket is from him?"

"Couldn't be from anyone else," I reasoned, "And it didn't have a tag, and there was the note in the pocket. It was just like the other one, but now I remember what they mean..."

"You got another note from him?" George asked, frowning slightly, "When? Why didn't you say anything about it?"

I shrugged, "It was right after the quidditch game. After I ran that night. I slept just inside the forest-" Fred cut me off momentarily with a sharp, wincing intake of breath, but I continued, "I woke up with the same note stuck in my hand. I didn't know what it meant, or where it had come from, and to be honest I was a little creeped out. But this second one reminded..."

I inhaled deeply, the scent of cold and leather spiraling my senses through a rush of memories, of being tucked inside the soft warmth of my daddy's leather jacket as he took me soaring through the stars on his motorcycle... I missed him so much.

"You can't tell _anyone_," I ordered, giving each twin a fierce glare, "I'm serious. Not a word. They'll take it away from me and just go after him that much harder."

After sharing brief glances, the twins agreed, "We won't tell."

"Good," I hummed contentedly, snuggling into Fred's shoulder as we both watched the colors in my ring change to pink and purple--loved and happy. "Something else you boys wanted?" I questioned with a yawn.

"Actually," George answered, flashing a wicked smirk, "Yes." He pointed back to Fred, and when I turned I found that he was holding a sprig of mistletoe over our heads, grinning brightly. He was adorable, blue eyes shining, freckled nose and cheeks pink from cold, dimples out in full force. Who was I to deny my best friend a Christmas kiss?

Reaching up to cup his slightly stubbly jaw in my hand, I laughed, "Well, I suppose since it is tradition, after all." I leaned in and kissed Fred softly, firmly, my lips lingering against his slightly longer than was strictly necessary as both our eyes fell shut. My stomach gave a startling little flutter at the feel of the heat coming off him. Neither of us was moving apart.

But then George loudly cleared his throat and we both instantly pulled back, our already pink cheeks flushing darker. I turned away from the awkwardness to find that George too was holding up a sprig of mistletoe. I tried not to be a little disappointed that Fred's kiss hadn't meant anything, that he was just playing around like his brother. And why did I even _want_ it to have meant something more?

Snickering, I leaned over and gave George the same treatment, pecking him lightly and not lingering for as long. It was partly because kissing him felt a lot... weirder than kissing Fred, but mostly because the sneaky little bastard tried to slip me his tongue.

Pulling back abruptly, I shot him a warning glare even as I tried not to laugh, smacking him sharply on the chest. He just sent me a cheeky smirk, blowing a kiss before waggling his thick ginger eyebrows and winking flirtatiously.

The glare did not last long. I very soon found myself in a fit of giggles as the twins hugged me close on either side. I didn't want to ever have to go back to Hogwarts.

xxXxx

My dread at returning to the castle seemed to make the remaining week of break fly by at warp speed. It was just a heartbeat of time before we were on the train station platform saying our goodbyes. Ginny hardly wanted to let go of Bill and Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley hardly wanted to let go of any of us. Not that I was complaining. If I could, I would've stayed. Hogwarts had become my personal hell.

"You behave yourselves," She instructed tearfully as she trapped Fred and George in hugs tight enough to threaten their air supplies, "And it wouldn't kill you to write home more often! Oh, my babies, I'll miss you so much!"

"Mum," Bill laughed, gently prying the squat woman away from his two brothers, "Come on, Mum, they're going to miss the train." Allowing his mother to hug him instead of the twins, Bill flashed us a charming smile as he said, "Better run now. Love you all, and, Stella?"

Already jogging towards the platform, I looked over my shoulder and inquired sadly, "Ya?"

He winked and instructed, "Keep the twins out of trouble." I laughed wickedly, winking right back as I countered, "Not gonna happen. I'm usually leading the charge." As Fred and George pulled me onto the train, I heard Charlie chuckle and remark, "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

And then I was back. After two weeks of safe haven, or freedom from fear and loneliness, I was right back in the midst of the place I didn't want to be. All that morning leading up to stepping on the train, I only felt dread. Once I was finally aboard, I felt like jumping off.

I was seriously considering doing exactly that. My blood started to beat faster, my breaths becoming shallow. I was three seconds from freaking out, from running right back out the door.

"Let's find ourselves a compartment," Fred soothed, seeming to have caught on to my impending episode. He slung an arm around my shoulders, tucking me safely into his side and smiling a comforting smile. I had no choice but to smile back, feeling my whole body relax into Fred's touch. I just knew I was safe with him.

xxXxx

The train ride was uneventful, as was the feast, and most of the first week back. People whispered and stared when they saw me, but that can hardly be counted as anything notable; my entire Hogwarts career to date had gone much the same way.

On Thursday night, at a little before eight, I was sneaking up from dinner to meet Oliver in the Astronomy tower. I hadn't talked to him at all since getting back; in fact, we'd had no contact aside from the note he discreetly slipped me when we passed in the hall that afternoon. He only wrote a time, a place, and _We need to talk_. I just knew he was going to add more drama to my life with whatever he was throwing a fit over this time. Maybe we _did_ need to talk. Maybe it was time for me to end things...

The twins had already made me twenty minutes late by holding me down from either side until I cleaned my plate; they were determined not to let the progress they had made in getting me up to a healthy weight go to waste. I tried very hard not to be annoyed.

I kept my pace brisk and I was deep in thought as I walked, so much so that I didn't even notice I'd tripped until I was already sprawled on the cold stone floor and biting back tears. Wincing and moving slow as my bloody right knee screamed in protest, I managed to push myself onto all fours and then, with a great deal of effort, to get back onto my feet again.

I turned around and was startled to find myself face to face with Harry. He was breathing hard, red in the face and obviously angry. It only took me about two seconds to realize that he was the reason I tripped; he had tripped me.

"Hello," I greeted softly, nervous and actually a little scared. So far all the pain he'd inflicted on me had been purely emotional and psychological. If he'd graduated to physical with such little remorse than I could no longer count on being safe in his presence. Plus, it was just such a shock to my system that he actually _hurt me_.

"You _knew_," He snarled, menacing and feral as his green eyes spit flames. He took a step forward and I took two back, panicking and finding my chest becoming tight as I held in the urge to sob. Harry wasn't supposed to look at me like that...

"You knew the whole fucking time!" The boy accused, his voice growing louder as he took another step closer to me, "You knew your dad was my godfather and that he was the one who betrayed my parents, and you spent _two years_ not telling me, _two years_ going out of your way to be my friend and still not telling me! What possible reason could you have to do that? Did you think it was funny? Are you sick like he is? Were you planning to follow in Daddy's footsteps? Setting the stage for your own betrayal of my family?"

He paused, drawing hard breaths in through clenched teeth and fisting his shaking hands at his sides. Wide-eyed, I kept backing away, shaking and truly terrified as Harry continued to advance on me. He would've hit me. I know he would've. I love my little god-brother, but he has a horrible temper.

Luckily, a classroom door opened between us and Remus stepped out into the hallway. He was tired, heavy circles around his amber eyes as he glanced at both Harry and me. "What's going on here?" He questioned flatly, his gaze falling to my bloody knee, "Are you alright, Stella? How did you get hurt?"

Swallowing hard, I stared across at Harry, my vision fuzzy as my voice broke with tears, "Nothing, Professor. I just tripped. Harry was helping me up." I turned away, hugging my leather jacket tightly around my body as I sobbed, "Clumsy, clumsy me." I forced myself to walk away slowly, partly because my knee killed and partly because I knew Remus would come after me if I ran. I took slow, measured steps all the way down the hallway, listening as Remus greeted Harry and ushered him into the classroom with an offer of hot chocolate.

I rounded the next corner and slumped to the floor, pressing my head against the cool stone wall and breaking down into body-racking sobs.

xxXxx

Oliver was already gone by the time I got up to the Astronomy tower. I didn't blame him though; I was over forty minutes late and he had very little patience.

My knee ached the next day and I had to borrow a pair of leggings from Ginny to keep the twins from noticing that it was bruised and bloody. They didn't catch on, thank Merlin, but it hurt so much just to stop myself from limping that I was nauseas with pain halfway through the morning. Since I had History of Magic just before lunch, I just snuck out of the room when Binns wasn't looking and I went up to my dorm to knock back a few shots of the vodka Oliver had sent me for Christmas. It helped to take the edge off.

At lunch, Fred caught a glimpse of my mood ring as I was pretending to force down some plain pasta. The inside of the delicate silver star was swirled with light green, dark green, and gray, which represent sick/in pain, stressed, and lonely. He bugged me about it, feeling my forehead and kindly asking if I was ill, if I needed him to walk me down to the Hospital Wing. I laughed it off and claimed to have cramps. Both boys were so unwilling to talk about anything to do with my girlie parts that they quickly dropped the subject. Hehe, works like a charm.

I skipped DADA after lunch and went to have a smoke at the far side of the vegetable patch, hidden behind the corn stalks where I couldn't be seen. I thought I'd be alone.

Only about ten minutes into my blissful solitude, I heard approaching footsteps and turned around just in time to watch Oliver Wood step into view. He did not look happy, square jaw set in a firm scowl. I sighed, bitterly thinking, _"And here comes the drama_._"_

"You didn't show up," He accused, his voice low and dangerous as he stopped just an arm's length away from me. I took another long drag on my cigarette, apologizing half-heartedly, "Sorry, I was running late. By the time I got there you were already gone."

"You blew me off," He stated once more, definitely beyond pissed and not listening to what I was saying. I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes as I answered, "Yes, we've established that, and I already apologized. Was there something else?"

He glared, brown eyes narrowing as the tall young man snapped, "We need to talk." Chuckling, puffing out thick clouds of smoke and frost, I granted, "Then by all means, proceed."

After a moment of pause, he snapped, "What were you thinking me sending condoms? What the fuck kind of Christmas present is condoms?" I smirked, blowing smoke in his face as I teased, "A fucking good one. You must not be thinking far enough into it."

He growled, his voice steadily rising in volume as he raged, "You know what I mean! My parents saw them! I had to have a fucking sex talk with my da, and my mum is _insisting_ she get to meet my girlfriend! They're taking us out to dinner Saturday."

Clearly, he was crazier than I was. "Oliver, you sent me _vodka_," I shouted in reply, taking one last drag of my cigarette before flicking it away, "At least my gift couldn't get you shipped off to a rehab center, because that's what would've happened to me if anyone had seen it! And your mum is going to have a hard time meeting a girlfriend you _don't_ have. We aren't going out. We fuck. _That's it_."

"You're coming to this damn dinner if I have _drag_ you there," He threatened, his features clouding menacingly as he got right into my face, "You got me into this!"

Laughing right back, I argued, "No, you got yourself into this! You could've just fucking _lied_ to your parents, like a normal human being. Oh, no, wait. You _did_ lie, you just didn't tell the right one. The story should've been 'one of my daft mates was playing a prank and there is no girlfriend.' Wouldn't that have saved us both a bit of trouble?"

"Well, I didn't think of that," He growled, his cheeks getting a faint hint of color as his fists shook at his sides. I knew it drove him up a wall when I made him feel stupid, and that's probably not what the situation needed but it's not like it could be helped. "And it's too late now," He continued, suddenly far too close for comfort, "Now they want to meet you, and you're not embarrassing me anymore in front of them! You're going to go to this dinner with me and you're going to act halfway sane until it's through, or else!!

"Grow a backbone, Wood," I spat, trying to move past him and leave because I really didn't feel like being manipulated, threatened, or screamed at, "Just admit to Mummy and Daddy what a bad little boy you've been and leave me the fuck out of it."

He grabbed my arm, hard, his grip so biting that it wrenched a small whimper out of my throat before I could stop. Fixing me with a cold stare, the gruff, muscular brunette hissed, "What do you know about dealing with parents? You don't even fucking have any!"

And that was the last straw. It didn't matter how much it hurt or how bruised I was going to be, I wrenched my arm out of Oliver's grasp and shoved him away from me, screaming, "GO TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!!"

I suddenly hated him so much. I thought he was my sanctuary, my oasis of good amidst the shriveling and burning desert of bad I was forced to endure every damn day. But it turned out he was just like everyone else, just as judgmental and cruel, and it felt like the biggest fucking betrayal yet. I didn't even want to look at him anymore. I was in a rage and trying desperately not to break down crying as I turned and stomping away towards the castle.

Limping frantically up the steep hill, I could hear his heavy footsteps crunching through the stale snow just a few moments later as he shouted, "Stella! Wait!" I looked over my shoulder and saw the anger on his face and I was afraid. Desperate to get away, I broke out into a run.

Oliver was controlling and possessive and impulsive and not very bright, but he was also fit and fast and strong. He easily caught up to me near a small gardening shed at the back of Greenhouse Three, slamming my body roughly against the dense wood. I struggled, punching and scratching, but he quickly had my wrists trapped over my head with just one large hand.

A shower of snow fell down on us, knocked off the roof as the small building shook with the force of my efforts to get free and his efforts to prevent them. I couldn't see Oliver clearly until the last of it drifted away, leaving us with barely an inch between our faces, no space between his powerful body and mine as he kept me pinned forcefully against the shed. I was helpless and utterly terrified, and he looked so fucking mad.

"Fuck!" The keeper snarled, squeezing my wrists even harder through the soft leather of my jacket, "I didn't mean it that way! Why do you always have to make everything so goddamn difficult?"

"Let go!" I demanded, my voice cracking as I held back tears of frustration and anger and pain and fear, "You're hurting me! Let go!"

The angry expression on his face twisted into a vicious, hateful smirk, his breath hot on my neck as he leaned in close and taunted, "I know you don't really mean that, love. Always liked a bit of rough, haven't you?" And then one of his cold hands was on my thigh, grabbing, squeezing too hard again, forcing me to open my legs as Oliver forced his body between them so they'd stay that way. His mouth was on my neck, biting and sucking and leaving marks, claiming even as my chest started to heave with choked sobs, even as I cried, "No! Stop! Stop!"

He was big, and strong, and used to getting his way. He didn't have to take no for an answer. He wasn't taking no for an answer, not showing any signs of releasing me, violently pounding his hips against mine hard enough to leave deep bruises, rubbing his clothed erection against my crotch like some disgusting animal in heat. I was going to be sick. I was going to throw up, and I could already feel my brain shutting down, retreating from the moment. I was protecting myself mentally even though I couldn't do a thing physically aside from weakly whimpering and sobbing, "No. No. No."

He broke the strap of my book bag, sending it and its contents crashing into the snow. I remember hearing him step on and shatter a glass inkwell as his big hand went under my skirt, fighting to keep me still enough to succeed in tearing off my panties. It hit me like a ton of bricks: he was going to rape me and it was my own damn fault. I used and abused him, and now he was returning the favor. He stuck his tongue down my throat and I was absolutely sure I was going to throw up.

"HEY!" A loud voice shouted, breaking Oliver out of his anger and mindless dry-humping. I couldn't move. I was too scared, too numb, and I thought that any movement would focus all Oliver's rage back on me.

The body pinning mine down shifted slightly so the sneering face I couldn't take my eyes off of could get a look at the intruder. "I think you should get away from her," The new voice commanded, sounding stern and determined.

"Mind your own bloody business!" Oliver growled in reply, burying his face in my neck again, sharply biting my skin and making me sob harder. "See?" He laughed cruelly, snapping his hips violently against the horrible bruises already developing on mine, "Bitch likes it."

I could hardly breathe. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't force enough air through my lungs and the person was going to leave me there with Oliver. He was going to walk away because no one at that school cared at all about what happened to me; hell, most of them would probably be glad to see what was happening to me. I hated the stranger for it, but I couldn't really blame him. I probably wasn't worth saving anyways...

But then Oliver's weight was yanked off me. Shocked and not prepared to support my own body, I crumbled into the snow, my right knee searing in protest when I landed on it. I still couldn't breathe, gasping and choking and crying and unable to pull myself up despite the fact that I knew I should run. After a few moments, sounds of a fight penetrated my fog of terror and pain, and I looked up to see Oliver a few feet, rolling through the snow with Cedric Diggory, a handsome fifth year Hufflepuff, captain and seeker of his house team. They were wrestling fiercely, Oliver swearing and Cedric yelling at him to get off as they punched at each other. It was almost like watching the twins wrestle, except that there was nothing playful about the melee; they were really trying to hurt each other. I was stunned and frozen.

But then I watched in detached horror as Oliver landed a vicious blow to the slightly smaller boy's temple. Cedric's head snapped sharply to the side before the rest of his body went limp and the second his gray eyes rolled back I was on my feet with my wand pointed at Oliver's big burly form.

"_Impedimenta!_" I shrieked, surprising myself with the rage in my shaking voice. The spell his Oliver between the shoulder blades and he slowly ground to a halt, his fist hanging back in midair and poised to strike the unconscious boy beneath him yet again. I was so angry I couldn't see straight. I kicked him off of Cedric with a shot to the ribs that was a lot harder than necessary and deeply satisfying for that very reason. I screamed every nasty and unpleasant hex, jinx, curse, and swear I could think of until Oliver was bloody and bruised and swollen and multicolored and scorched and hairy and covered in boils and sported several of his favorite appendages hanging limply from the wrong parts of his body, until I could no longer speak because my voice was so hoarse and I was sobbing too hard to keep going.

Even so, I probably would've kept trying to hurt him if I hadn't felt a hand gently close over my trembling left wrist, very slowly coaxing me into lowering my wand even though my tear-filled eyes and expression of pure rage refused to leave Oliver's whimpering, squirming body. He hadn't lost consciousness at all and I prayed for him not to, for him to feel every ounce of pain I could dish out even though his could never compare to mine.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice inquired, its owner cautiously attempting to steer me away from the carnage. Still sobbing, I answered weakly, "No."

I finally turned away from Oliver then, coming face to face with Cedric Diggory for the first time. I knew him before then, but only by reputation and because my dorm mates spent a lot of time gushing over his good looks and sweet personality. He was tall, but still a few inches shorter than me, with high cheekbones, pouting lips, a nicely sculpted nose, and a round, deceivingly boyish jaw line. He looked a lot younger than me despite the fact that he was a full year older. "Well, um... are you hurt at all?" The teen asked quietly, his speech a little slow from an obvious injury to his jaw where a bruise was already starting to spread on the right side. His disheveled brown hair was falling into his piercing gray eyes, but I could still see the left one was filled with broken blood vessels that were straining the white with deep, angry red.

"No," I answered, shaking my head as I slowly brought a hand up to cup his cheek, "But you are." He winced at the touch--he'd gotten hit there, too--but smiled softly and bravely soothed, "It's nothing."

"You need to see the nurse," I scolded, unaware that my hand was shaking until he put his over the top of it. His hands were big but not as big as Oliver's, calloused but still surprisingly soft, with long fingers and warm palms and I shivered when he moved his thumb gently along the inside of my bruised wrist in an unconscious gesture of comfort.

"I will," He promised, his sincere gaze never leaving my tearful one, "Later. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"I'm sure," I answered, lying because I was bruised all over and felt like drowning myself in the lake, "You shouldn't have jumped in, but thank you."

Not bothering to move his hand or mine, he shrugged and I could see a slight blush spreading as his cheek grew hot beneath my palm. "It was no trouble," He stated, "Really." He gave me a warm smile, coaxing me to give him one back before I could decide not to. He was sweet and he had helped me. It felt really good to know that, no matter how bad things got, there was one more student at Hogwarts who at least wouldn't turn his back while I was being violated.

He was still blushing, a little uncomfortable that I was touching him but not moving away as he gazed up at me with big open eyes and an almost mesmerized expression on his face. "Are you a new student?" He inquired innocently, "I don't remember seeing you around before."

I recoiled like I'd been burned, my heart aching in my chest as I realized that he didn't know who I was, that he probably wouldn't have cared so much if he had. After a moment of being regarded questioningly by the boy, I gave a bitter, slightly imbalanced little giggle of, "No, I'm not new. Been here all along."

"Oh," He responded, sounding mortified as his blush got worse and he shifted nervously from foot to foot, "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Just that I don't remember seeing you before... I'm Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory. What's your name?"

Blinking back tears, I turned away from him, still laughing cynically to myself as I teased, "Ask around. I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting someone to explain who I am and why you shouldn't have helped me."

I sensed rather than saw his frown and confusion, but kept going, walking the short distance back to the small shed and painfully kneeling in the snow to gather the items that had spilled out of my dropped satchel.

I had only gotten a few bent scrolls of parchment into it when I felt Cedric kneel down beside me and help, spelling my crushed inkwell back into one piece and cleaning the ink from my torn satchel before fixing that, too. My hands were cold and clumsy as I desperately tried to stuff away all my books and papers. I had to get out of there because I didn't want to be near the boy when he figured out who I was and remembered that he hated me just like everyone else. It was so nice to have someone treat me like a human being and I didn't want to be around when that stopped.

But his movements were sure and controlled, careful as he held the bag still with one hand and stacked a few books inside with the other. He was trying to be neat, but I was still just stuffing balled up handfuls of assignments, and I knew I looked insane but had to leave _right now_.

"Stella Black," He finally stated, making me jump and whirl around to see that he had picked up one of my scrolls, that it had come unfurled to reveal an old Charms paper with my name carefully scrawled across the top of it. I froze, my eyes going wide as he regarded me curiously for a few moments. I saw his face fall the moment he figured out who I was, that the bruised and tear-stained blonde kneeling in the snow beside him was none other than the daughter of a notorious murderer and escaped convict.

I snatched my bag away from him and quickly forced myself to my feet. Despite the fact that I hadn't gathered all my things, that my injured knee and hips and back screamed in pain, I sprinted off towards the castle. I ran away and left Cedric kneeling in the snow.

xxXxx

It took me dozens of glamour charms to cover all the visible bruises on my wrists and neck. I was so anxious about the twins finding out what had happened that I couldn't get my hands to stop shaking until almost three days later. I wore gloves to hide the fact that my charmed mood ring was constantly pulsing with swirls of black and light green, the colors representing scared and sick/in pain. The last thing I needed was for Fred to get a look at that because I knew he wouldn't stop until he discovered the cause of my distress.

Oliver was in the Hospital Wing for an entire week having my spell damage reversed. I guess it didn't hit me completely until after he'd been released, until after I passed him unexpectedly on the stairs and it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the castle just from the hatred in his cold stare. He was dangerous; I wasn't safe.

That night, I snuck away to sit by the lake. My dog showed up, and he kept me company while I cried and ranted about Oliver, about how scared I was that he was really going to hurt me because I really believed he would. That boy didn't handle losing or embarrassment well and he had now experiences with both that were linked to me. The shaking came back. I hugged my dog to keep it to a minimum but the great black canine whined all the same as I shuddered against him for hours.

I fell asleep again. In the morning, I was woken up by the sunrise and found that my dog was gone. I stretched out my kinked neck and sore muscles. The bruises made me hurt all over and sleeping on the cold hard ground didn't help.

I walked back to Gryffindor Tower and managed to slip back in before I was missed. I went about business as usual; things were pretty hectic that Friday what with the Slytherin v. Ravenclaw quidditch match scheduled for the afternoon. I didn't find the knife until a half hour into the game, growing chilly and slipping my hands into the soft warmth in the front pockets of my leather jacket.

My gloved fingers met a sleek sliver of wood and metal, and I pulled it out to investigate just as the rest of the crowd around me was getting to their feet to scream about a penalty the Slytherin beater was blatantly getting away with. No one saw me curiously turning the beautiful red and gold handle over close to my face. No one saw when I pushed a little round button on the shaft and a blade almost as big as my hand jumped straight up at me and nearly took out an eye. No one saw me calmly but quickly close and hide the switchblade back in my pocket.

I had no idea where it had come from but I suspected my dad. I thought he must have heard me talking to my dog the night before, and that meant he was close by, on the school grounds even. It also meant he was watching me. Fred and George kept asking why I was smiling as we walked back to school after Slytherin narrowly beat Ravenclaw. "Just in a good mood, is all," I told them, not even the least bit phased by the strange glances they were sharing behind my back.

A few more weeks went by. I noticed Cedric staring at me sometimes from across the Great Hall. The bruises on his face made me feel guilty and uncomfortable, so I tried to ignore the boy. He was probably just gawking at the freak, I decided, rubber-necking as he passed a train wreck. I didn't like the intensity of his looks, feel like I was a puzzle he was intent on solving. I hoped he would soon get bored with me and move on to something else.

I carried the knife everywhere, but Oliver did leave me alone. Well, he didn't leave me alone, exactly, but he didn't assault me again for awhile. Threatening notes started turning up in my satchel and Oliver himself started turning up in odd places, places where I knew he shouldn't have been... like on my routes to class when he should've been on the other side of the castle. It felt a bit like stalking, but slightly less extreme. I was hoping he'd get bored, too, and just leave me alone. That's all I wanted, to just be left alone.

On January 31st, a Monday, I went to Potions class edgy and sleep-deprived, and ended up telling Snape to go to hell the second he started in with his usual jabs. He threw me out and told me to report straight to the headmaster. I went and smoked in the Moaning Myrtle's bathroom instead. The ghost tolerated me because she fancied us kindred spirits, I suppose, since I suffered through teasing and bullying like she had. I personally thought mine was a hell of a lot worse but kept my mouth shut because I was grateful for the hideout.

I skipped DADA, and then lunch, and then Transfiguration. I would've stayed there right through History of Magic and dinner had I not gotten caught.

"Hello?" A familiar voice called, making me jump and run to hide in one of the stalls. "Hello?" It called again, the owner moving into the room and coughing slightly on my smoke, "I know someone is in here. Please answer me."

"This is a _girls' _bathroom," Myrtle sneered as she floated up near the ceiling. I took another few drags of my cigarette and then threw it in the toilet. I flushed all the butts just in time for Percy Weasley to gently push open the door of my stall.

He's not a dummy though; he knew exactly what I'd been doing and he fixed me with one of those Disappointed Stares that I thought were reserved exclusively for people over the age of thirty.

"Stella," He chided sternly, hands fisted at his narrow hips as he scowled down at me over the top of his glasses, "I thought you were smarter than this."

I shrugged, feigning disinterest as I folded my arms across my chest and responded, "Guess not." Sighing heavily, he gestured me out with a command of, "Let's go."

xxXxx

As much as he hated to do it--which is what our conversation all the way to Dumbledore's office consisted of--Percy turned me in for the smoking. Apparently, it's against school policy. I always suspected it was, but I never knew for sure until then. See, I was still learning things.

With that on top of the Snape incident, I was in "big trouble." Remus was called in for a conference and I was given a very stern talking to about my smoking, failing grades, nearly non-existent attendance, poor attitude, and other behavioral issues that fall under the same general category. They were both upset and disappointed, of course, but the real purpose for the conference was to try to talk me back into going to the shrink. I refused and was sentenced to a week of detentions with Remus.

I had, surprisingly, thus far managed to avoid detentions with my godfather and was definitely not looking forward to them. It's not like I thought he was going to be unfair to me or anything, I just still didn't want to be anywhere near him. I was still upset over what he said about my dad, not to mention how he lied to me about my dad, and I didn't appreciate the forced interaction.

It was a little before midnight when I finally decided to return to Gryffindor Tower and the twins were waiting for me on one of the couches near the fire, their arms folded across their chests as they watched me walk towards them. Knowing in an instant that they'd been told of the events of that day, I rolled my eyes, grumbling, "Stupid tattletale Percy..."

"You're doing it again," Fred accused, his voice more sad than than angry as he got to his feet and stood just in front of me. George followed, and I made a face at the both of them as I asked, "Doing what?"

"Hiding things from us," Fred clarified, his bright blue eyes locked on mine as his strong arms hanging limply at his sides, "And we don't like it."

I opened my mouth to refute the claim but nothing came out. Somewhere along the lines, I had apparently lost my ability and willingness to lie to the twins, Fred especially because he was giving me this awful kicked-puppy face and I just wanted to kiss it away...

Wait. Scratch that. Clearly, what I meant was that, while cute and irresistible, it was manipulative and highly annoying. Right.

"I'm sorry," I whispered sheepishly, hanging my head in shame, "I just can't tell you this one."

"Why?" Fred asked, his voice sounding soft and vaguely injured. Gathering my strength, I managed to bring my gaze back up to his as I stated flatly, "Because I couldn't handle what it would change between us." After a moment of confused pause, I went on, "You look at me and still see a scrawny, big-mouthed, happy-go-lucky little first year pranking you on the train. I suspect I've already lost those good things about myself, but knowing that's what you still see makes me believe that just maybe they're not all gone."

They were speechless, standing side-by-side with identical expressions of fear and worry. "You two are my hope," I told them, my eyes getting glassy as my voice shook, "I don't want you to see what I've become."

After another few moments of silence on their parts, George stepped forward and wrapped me into a great big bear hug. "Stella's gone and lost herself, Forge," He murmured, his voice thick with the forced joke, "Reckon we need to help her find it again, eh?"

I laughed as I buried my head against his neck, squeezing him just as tightly as he was squeezing me, hanging on for dear life. Fred stepped up behind, making me the filling in yet another Weasley twin sandwich as he hugged me and hummed in agreement, "Definitely. We should start our search at the bottom of a few cups of hot chocolate, and then precede to whatever location in the general area houses the greatest amount of explosives.

I was crying just from the sheer relief of being squished between the two boys. They always made me feel so safe... "You know we'll always love you no matter what," Fred added in a serious whisper, "There isn't anything you can do that will change that."

Loved, too. They made me feel loved absolutely unconditionally. I sniffled helplessly, only managing a mere nod as I clung tighter to George.

After several long minutes of merely being comforted by the closeness, we all pulled back at once. The twins communicated through a quick glance over my shoulder, and then Fred gently suggested, "You didn't eat lunch or dinner, so how about we go on a kitchen run?" I sniffled and wiped my eyes as I nodded, agreeing, "That sounds lovely, boys. Thank you."

They stood their ground, staring at me expectantly until I raised an eyebrow and inquired, "Well, aren't you going to go get the map?" By that time, they had already long since given the map to Harry. However, I was not aware of this and they were hoping to drag a few more weeks of ignorance out of me.

"Oh," George sputtered, sharing another significant look with Fred, "Right, ya. We'll just go and get it then. You stay right here." Shaking my head at their strangeness, I watched as they trudged up the stairs, whispering together conspiratorially.

As soon as they were gone, I let out a relieved sigh and collapsed back into the couch, glad to have a few moments to unwind.

But, of course, I didn't really. Almost as soon as my arse hit the cushions, I was jumping up again as a chillingly familiar voice mocked, "_You two are my hope._ What a load of crap."

"Go away, Oliver," I warned, backing up towards absolutely no escape. My back hitting the wall halfway between the portrait hole and staircases, there wasn't even a remote possibility that I could make it to either before the agile keeper caught me. Running didn't even make a legitimate Plan B.

Fuck.

Glaring dangerously, Oliver stepped out of the shadowed corner he'd been lurking in and advanced towards me, growling, "I'll go anywhere I please. I don't take orders from whores."

"Excuse me?" I demanded, suddenly outraged and angry enough to forget how much the young man scared me. I wanted to challenge him to a duel for my own honor. Pistols at dawn, motherfucker. I will _own you._

But, back in reality, he had about a hundred pounds on me and could've snapped me right in half if he really had a mind to do so. And he was probably getting very close to that point.

Fuck.

Where were the twins when I needed them?

"You heard me," The brunette responded, smug and smirking cruelly as he took another few steps closer, "You're nothing but a whore. You think you're so much smarter than everyone, that you're better, but you're _nothing._ You don't even respect yourself enough to have a problem with fucking a guy you barely know!"

"Actually," I corrected, unable to keep my big mouth from getting me into trouble yet again, "I don't think I'm smarter than everyone. I _am_ smarter than everyone. And I did have one problem with fucking a guy I barely knew. One very _small_ problem." Ok, so _maybe_ it wasn't the greatest idea to question his manhood...

Nostrils suddenly flaring with rage, Oliver shrieked, "BITCH!" and swiftly backhanded me across the face. The blow echoed around the room, wind from the loud _CRACK_ nearly extinguishing the dwindling fire. With a strangled cry, I fell to the floor.

Not even a second later, forgetting to be afraid of injury and death, I was back on my feet and had the switchblade in my hand. The knife popped smoothly, out and shining in the dim light faster than either of us could blink, and then I had it tight against Oliver's throat. The burly brunette swallowed compulsively, staring at me wide-eyed as he slowly began to comprehend what a huge mistake he'd just made. I mean, hadn't he heard? Stella Black is one crazy bitch.

"That is the last time you will _ever_ touch me," I warned, my voice icy, low and dangerous. I didn't flinch, shake, or waver, my blade already drawing a razor thin line of blood from just below Oliver's Adam's apple. Pressing the knife in harder, partly to make a point and partly because I wanted him to suffer like he'd made me suffer, I explained, "For both our sakes, you are _never_ going to lay a hand on me _ever again_ because I can promise you that neither of us will live through it."

A cloud of sour ammonia smell suddenly wafted into my nose, and I knew he'd wet his pants.

You can always tell the men from the boys with a knife to the jugular.

"Understand?" I inquired, thinking that it was only fair he fully comprehended his situation. The _boy_ nodded, whimpering when he nearly impaled himself through the throat with the action. I lowered the knife and Oliver ran like a frightened bunny.

Gryffindor is for the brave, indeed.

I let out a long, shaking breath, in awe that I'd found the strength and will to threaten someone with a knife. To threaten someone who was very likely to tattle on me with a knife.

Fuck.

But, I decided, I could worry about that later. If Oliver wanted to tell on me, I could tell on him right back. Assault and attempted rape are worse than self-defense, right?

Right.

I carefully cleaned his blood off my shiny new knife, my shiny and very much beloved new knife, closed it, and tucked it back into the pocket of my leather jacket as I turned towards the staircases.

The twins were both standing at the bottom of them, their jaws hanging almost to the floor and their faces set in identical expressions of surprise and horror.

Fuck.

None of us said a word, breathed, moved a muscle. They were probably in shock. I was deluding myself with the Jurassic Park T-Rex mindset: if I don't move, then maybe they will be unable to perceive me with their primitive ocular organs.

I always know I'm severely fucked when I start relying on Jurassic Park strategy.

And that happens more often than I like to admit.

"Sooo..." I started uncertainly, fiddling with the silver zipper on my jacket, "Exactly how much of that did you guys see?"

Slowly, still obviously trying to come to terms with the events he just walked in on, Fred stated, "You holding a knife on Wood."

I brightened considerably. "But nothing else?" I asked, hopeful that I still wouldn't have to tell all that had transpired between the keeper and I. "Um..." George drawled, giving me a very strange, unsettled look, "No... that's it."

"Great!" I chirped, smiling happily, "Because it was nothing! I just... um... I had a crazy moment. Ya. And I hallucinated that he was Peter. Ok. I should go lie down now until I'm not so crazy anymore. Night, boys." Before they could argue, I bolted out of the common room and up the stairs, my feet pounding on every step. I tripped twice before I finally made it back to my room and, like a toddler startled by the bogeymen in her closet, dove beneath the safety of my blankies.

Oh ya, I'm smooth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am sooooo tired. I hate school. It wouldn't be half bad if it weren't for all the class...

Every review contributes two cents to the Abolishing Class from School initiative.

Sorry that updates have been taking so long. I'm doing my best to write more for this and this other stories as quick as I can. Thank you for being patient.


	10. Bump in the Night

Part 10 - Bump in the Night

On Monday night, I held a knife to Oliver Wood's throat.

By Tuesday afternoon, most of the student body knew about it.

Wood was an idiot and an arse, but he did have a bit of a craftiness to him. He knew that telling on me to the professors would only raise questions about why I'd found it necessary to threaten him, which would inevitably lead to revelations about him beating me around and trying to force himself on me. The professors at Hogwarts were too smart and rational to buy "she's crazy and attacked with no provocation."

The student body, however, was not. We teenagers do love our gossip and scandal.

The way I've traced it, he started at breakfast. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet asked him how he got the small cut on his throat. And he told them, of course leaving out the part where he more than had it coming. When they asked why, he told them he didn't know, that I was crazy and he suspected I was fucking both the twins. I have no idea where that one came from, but far be it from me to try to understand the mind of that vindictive, idiot man-child.

Shocked, Katie Bell shared her story of being witness to me having a breakdown over breakfast one morning, how I freaked and screamed and sobbed in Fred's arms.

The story spread like wildfire after that. Alicia Spinnet happened to be one of the biggest gossips in Hogwarts castle. And, lucky me, she was BFF! with all the other biggest gossips.

By Tuesday afternoon, people were snickering a little more hysterically as they passed me in the halls. By the end of lunch, wild imaginations had twisted the rumor to include paranoid schizophrenia and compulsive nymphomania. The sick egos of most males between the years of three and seven had twisted it to include their owners.

By the time I overhead what was being said about me, standing frozen behind a stack in the library as a pair of Hufflepuffs giggled in hushed voices, I was a violent nymphomaniac slut. I liked it rough. I got off on blood, like some kind of sex vampire. I orchestrated bi-weekly orgies under the quidditch stands. I'd give head to anyone in exchange for a shot of firewhiskey; for three, I'd let you fuck me in the arse. I pulled a knife on Oliver because he didn't want to touch me. Why, you ask? Because I was diseased, of course, something I'd undoubtedly picked up while on my back in the alley at a local pub.

Honest to god, second year Hufflepuff girls were whispering this in the library. Fighting back tears, I reasoned that if that was the story they'd gotten, the one going around the upper years would have to be a hundred times worse.

It was.

On the way to dinner, a third year Ravenclaw boy spelled a strong gust of wind against the back of my skirt. It flipped up and a whole corridor got a flash of my arse and the pink thong I was wearing that day. They thought it was hilarious. There were whistles and catcalls as I frantically pulled it back down, absolutely humiliated and trying my hardest not to cry. As soon as I was covered again, a black-haired Slytherin named Adrian Pucey immediately grabbed my skirt and pulled it up once more, rubbing up against me as he mocked, "Come now, kitten. We all know you aren't shy. Give us a show."

I kneed him in the balls and ran for all I was worth, the crowd only parting because they were afraid they'd receive the same treatment. Every student present was still laughing and jeering.

I couldn't show my face at dinner. I was used to being ostracized and tortured, but not like that, not that extreme. With all the staring, and giggling, and pointing, and random slimy boys unabashedly cornering and propositioning me for sex, offering to _pay me for sex_ on one notable occasion, I quickly broke down. I barely made it to Myrtle's bathroom before bursting into tears.

I sat on the toilet hugging my knees and sobbing until just a little past curfew. Myrtle hadn't been helping things, haughtily proclaiming, "I don't know what you're complaining about. At least boys want you. The boys all thought I was _disgusting_. Oh yes, the pretty, skinny blonde girl has it _so tough_." Little bitch. If I could've seen past my tears, I would've hit her with a hex or two.

I never heard the door open or the footsteps entering. I only became aware that I wasn't alone when the door of the stall I was hiding in slowly began to open.

"Stella?" It was Percy, again, and I hated that it was the second time in as many days that he'd tracked me down to the same bathroom.

I looked up at him through a curtain of blonde hair, and couldn't answer. I was sobbing just as hard as I had been since I'd first hidden myself in there hours ago and no end seemed anywhere in sight. Kind and patient to an extremely out-of-character degree, Percy stooped down in front of me, putting a comforting hand on my heaving shoulder as he soothed, "It'll be alright. Let's just get you back to the Tower."

"No," I whimpered, choking and hiccupping, "Fuck the Tower! Fuck this school and everyone in it! I'm done!"

He made a face at me, his horn-rimmed glasses slipping down his long, freckled nose as he questioned, "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said," Was my answer, decisive and final and so very freeing. Suddenly feeling much better, I added, "I'm done with all of this! I don't care anymore and I can't take staying here! I want to go home!!"

Stoic in his concern, Percy allowed me a few moments to bask in the decision before crushing it. "And where is home, Stella?" He questioned softly, immediately bringing me back down to earth, crashing through the crust and into the hell Hogwarts had become.

I had no home.

How the _fuck_ did that happen?

The realization hit me and I couldn't do anything but cry harder, unable to catch my breath as I hugged my aching knees tighter to my chest. I had no home and I'd pushed my whole family away from me. I was doing the same to the twins, and soon I'd have nothing. Hopelessness hurts, an excruciating ache seizing my heart as I sat there on the closed lid of an old running toilet in Moaning Myrtle's mildewy bathroom.

"Come on," Percy murmured, carefully holding my elbow as he coaxed me to stand, "I'll walk you back."

"No, please," I begged, pathetically wiping my runny face, "I can't go in there. J-Just... let me find somewhere else. Please."

"Don't let them win," Percy ordered sternly, still pulling my uncooperative form out of the stall, "If you run, they win."

"They've already won!" I shouted, yanking my arm out of his grasp, "I'm sick of having to fight for my right to just _exist_! I'm gone!"

Frowning, the redhead pushed up his glasses and calmly argued, "You're not going anywhere. You can't. Dumbledore would just find you and bring you back. Stop being stupid."

"Stop being a prick," I snapped in reply, rather upset that he was right. I would be found, and my brief freedom would be tainted by constantly fearing when that time would come.

So I decided to do what any intelligent person in my position would: get expelled. If I was to get expelled, then I'd be free. Sure, I'd never be allowed to use magic and I'd undoubtedly be watched closely, but I'd be free of Hogwarts and the packs of wild dogs roaming its halls. The sacrifices seemed small.

I was already planning as I allowed Percy to silently guide me back to the Tower.

xxXxx

The plan went into action at breakfast the next morning. I arrived early, still wearing pajamas, sat in Snape's chair, put my bare, dirty feet up on the staff table, poured myself a large glass of straight vodka, and lit a cigarette.

Needless to say, that did not go over too well with everyone's favorite Potions Master. He was absolutely _irate_, bitching me out in front of the entire Hall while I just smiled and smoked, sipping my drink and refusing to move.

After the big greaseball was through giving me enough detentions to last through the remainder of the year, he banished me to the Gryffindor table with a flick of his wrist. I ended up seated right between Harry and Ron. My little god-brother angrily ordered, "Get away from me, you slag!"

I calmly but viciously stabbed him in the thigh with a fork. While the bespectacled lad screamed and cursed and raged, I casually grabbed an entire bowl of fruit and headed to class. The plan was going well.

xxXxx

I threw an apple or two through Binns' head and got thrown out of History of Magic.

I graffitied large, permanent obscenities on the wall of Flitwick's classroom, and threatened to dropkick the horrified Charms professor when he attempted to stop me. He threw me out, too.

Snape made me turn around and leave as soon as I set foot in the dungeons wearing a t-shirt spelled to flash "I heart shampoo."

I saw Trelawney sexually molesting a house elf in my crystal ball. She was more than outraged when I raised my hand and told her so.

After she banished me as well, I was done with class for the day and headed towards the library. I was planning on using my outdoor voice and making origami out of the books until Madame Pince had an aneurism.

Uncle Remus stopped me on the way. My harried godfather gestured me towards the headmaster's office with an exasperated sigh of, "Let's go, Stella."

"It's about fucking time!" I chirped brightly, skipping and mentally calculating how to get myself to Florida by nightfall.

xxXxx

Dumbledore watched me carefully as I picked up and "accidentally" broke everything on his desk within my reach. "Well?" I demanded, finally getting fed up with the lack of disciplinary action, "Aren't you going to punish me?"

The white-haired man gave a slow, sagely nod before speaking. "Yes," He said, "You will be punished. But, I can assure you that under no circumstances will that punishment include expulsion."

"Oh, come on!" I shrieked, leaping to my feet and slamming both hands down on his deskful of broken knick-knacks, "I've done everything short of setting this fucking cesspool on fire! And I swear to god, that'll be my next action if you don't get me out of here! Expell me!"

"No," He answered, infuriating me further with his stoic calm, "You will not be expelled."

"I'll just keeping getting worse!" I threatened, pacing and ignoring Remus' pleading looks, "I'm a danger to the other students! I'll fucking kill them all! See! There! I've made death threats! That has to be expulsion-worthy!"

"I'm afraid it is," The old man calmly informed, "Death threats are very serious things and I _could_ have you out of here in less than five minutes. But I won't."

"You stupid geezer!" I wailed, close to tears as my perfect plan fell apart, "Why are you doing this to me? I just want to leave! You all win, ok! I'll be good! I won't drink, or fight, or fuck! I won't even believe in my dad's innocence if that's what you want! I'll see the fucking useless shrink! I'll do anything! Just let me leave! I can't take this place anymore! It's torture just to walk down the halls and I won't live like this!!"

The room got very quiet as my screaming died down into tears. Remus got to his feet, cautiously approaching before pulling me into a comforting hug. I didn't push him away. I didn't care about our fight anymore. I was just tired of it and I'd missed him so much. I needed him to make it all better.

"Miss Black," The headmaster interrupted, his voice sad and placating, "If it is truly your desire to leave my school, and if you are serious in your willingness to work hard for such a thing, then I can offer you a compromise."

"Yes! Yes!" I cried, wiping tears out of my eyes, "I'll do anything you want if it will get me out of here!"

Nodding, Dumbledore tented his fingers in front of his bearded chin before stating, "Attend all your classes, do all your work, be on your best behavior, and keep weekly appointments with Dr. Dink. At the end of this year, if you have met these conditions and still have a desire to leave, then I will put you up for a transfer to the school of your choice."

Sniffling, I replied scathingly, "That does me no good! I'm not going to make it to the end of the year! You have no idea how bad things have gotten!"

"That may be, Miss Black," He responded softly, his blue eyes sad behind the half-moon glasses, "But this arrangement is all I can offer. I'm very sorry."

"Blow it out your arse, old man!" I screamed, shoving Remus away and kicking over a chair as I stomped out of the room.

xxXxx

Back in my dorm, I pulled out all the alcohol I had left and drank myself into unconsciousness. For the rest of that day, I only remember crying a whole bunch, waking up and just bawling as I shivered under my covers and cursed every sick twist of fate that had gotten me to where I was.

Late that night, I heard all my dorm mates trickle in, Abigail and Wendy and Katie, all of them stabbing at me with their giggles and gossip as they readied themselves for bed and then gradually went quiet.

I slept again and I dreamed of dying. The idea wasn't as terrifying as it should've been, and that scared me more than anything because I knew that I truly did not want to die.

I woke up to the quiet room again, still dizzy and not entirely sober but not entirely drunk anymore either. I was so tired, physically and emotionally, and I just wanted some peace. Lying on my back, staring up at the canopy, I wanted some flash of brilliance to end all the pain, to stop the gossip and torture, to free my dad, to take us far away from the stupid and hateful people that made up the majority of the world.

Instead, I suddenly felt a weird sensation on my stomach, like scratchy little feet traveling over my belly button and towards my head. Confused, I looked down. Even in the very faint light, I saw an odd bump in my covers. An odd, moving bump in my covers that was gradually traveling closer and closer to my head with more of the scratchy little feet against my skin.

I remained still for a while, scared and slightly hoping that it was all a dream, a hallucination, but, when a small, ugly rodent head appeared between my breasts, when the scratchy little feet left a set of itchy red marks on the skin of my chest and horid little buckteeth nibbled on the key I always wore around my neck, I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I screamed and just kept screaming and screaming, pushing away the covers and rat, panicking and shrieking and crying as I fell out of my bed. My roommates woke up, startled and sleepy and asking what the hell was wrong with me. Someone turned on a light. I was already in a corner sobbing.

"It's just a rat!" Katie Bell groaned tiredly, plucking the awful little creature out of my tangled bedspread, "It's a stupid little animal, not anything dangerous, so stop crying already!"

She used to be nicer to me, or at least was trying to be, but that was before the gossip. Now, she was just pissed off that I'd attacked Oliver. He was everyone's fucking golden boy.

"Get it away from me!!" I cried, shrinking in on myself and choking on my sobs.

"Relax," Abigail, who I liked to call Jason because of her striking similarities to Jason Voorhees, ordered bitchily, her auburn bowl cut disheveled from sleep, "It's not like you're going to catch anything from it. Hell, I'd be more worried about the rat catching something skanky from you." And then they laughed.

I hated them all.

My legs were wobbly, I still couldn't breathe or see, but I got up and I ran out, crying hysterically into my hands.

xxXxx

In the morning, Remus found me at the Hogsmeade train station. I was still crying, but I had a one-way ticket back to London clutched in my hand and I was relieved that, in a few hours time, I would be anywhere but Hogwarts.

"Stella," He stated, cautiously taking a seat beside me. My plan collapsed, and I suddenly felt infinitely more exhausted. "What are you doing?" My godfather asked gently, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. I sensed his frown deepen when I flinched away from the touch.

"Stella, I... " He went on, unable to finish the thought for a few long moments. I knew I worried him, that it made him so sad to have to watch me deteriorate and not know how to help. "I know we haven't been getting along lately," He stated quietly, "I know I can't even pretend to understand what you're going through, but... have I ever done _anything_ without your best interests at heart?"

Sniffling and clutching my ticket like a life raft, I shook my head. "No," He agreed simply, "And I never would... I love you, and I would lay down my life to protect you from harm."

I knew it was true and cried harder. I didn't think I was worth it.

"Please," He begged, slowly reaching out for one of my trembling hands, closing it tightly in both of his, "Let me help you. I-I'm so scared that I'm losing you, that we're all losing you..." For a long few moments, he didn't say a thing. And then he quietly added, "The twins are scared that they're losing you... they came and talked to me, about the gossip and how they haven't been able to find you since it started... they don't want it to drive you away, and neither do I. Just because your peers make up lies-"

"What makes you think it's all lies?" I laughed bitterly, unable to force myself to turn and look at the expression on his face, "What makes you think I'm not the crazy whore everyone says I am?"

"Stop it," He ordered, his voice stern but cracking, "I don't care what is going on, you are _not_ to talk about yourself like that. Understand?"

I shrugged, swallowing down a lump in my throat before ordering, "Go away. My train should be here soon."

"You know I'm now letting you leave," He announced sadly, "Like it or not, you're my ward until your seventeenth birthday. I can have the Ministry bring you back every time you run away. But I'm hoping that won't be necessary. I'm hoping I'll be able to talk you into staying of your own free will."

"It'll never be by my own free will," I answered blankly, feeling like I should cry more even though no more tears would come, "Remus, I hate it here."

I finally turned to look at my godfather, seeing how sad and old his eyes were. "I know, love," He sighed, squeezing my hand just a little bit tighter as he reached up to brush a stray shock of blonde out of my watery eyes, "And I'm sorry for the way things have gone but there's no changing them now... will you please just trust me to help you?"

I had several reasons for why not--damn good ones, too-- but I found myself not wanting to hurt Remu's feelings. He didn't deserve that. I stayed silent.

Sighing heavily, the sandy-haired man carefully put both of us up on our feet. "Let's get back to the castle," He said, feigning cheerfulness and optimism, "We can have a private breakfast in my chambers and talk about what we're going to do with you."

I nodded. My train ticket fell forgotten to the ground as Remus led me away.

xxXxx

Breakfast with my godfather was unproductive and ended in tears. Remus said he was willing to send me away if that's what I really wanted, but the only place he would agree to was a "treatment center." From what I gathered off the array of glossy brochures he presented, it was basically a cross between rehab and the nuthouse.

Remus thought I was insane and it would probably only be a matter of time until he sent me there anyways.

I calmly declined his offer and left. Then I broke down crying in Myrtle's bathroom again.

That's where the twins found me, Fred and George half creeping, half storming in and both immediately grabbing me into strong hugs. I couldn't stop crying, latching on to Fred's broad shoulders as he and his brother soothed me with gentle nonsense and caresses.

"They're all idiots, Stel," Fred stated, lovingly petting my hair as I cried, "We'll make 'em sorry for ever hurting you."

"Gloves are off this time," George emphatically and angrily agreed, gently rubbing my shaking back, "People are getting scarred for life. No one messes with our girl."

"It doesn't matter," I whimpered heartbrokenly, "There's nothing you can do to stop it."

"But we can sure as hell try!" Fred heatedly proclaimed, "We know we can't stop the gossip, but we can keep it away from you and we can keep those bloody bastards from laying their hands on you again!"

George nodded resolutely, adding, "By the time we're through, everyone in this school is going to be terrified to even sneeze in your general direction!"

I gave a weak laugh, clutching tighter to Fred as I let my friends' assurances help me relax from the state of extreme tension and fear I'd been in for days.

"Thanks, boys," I whispered, not bothering to pick my head up out of Fred's soaked shirt, deeply breathing in his surprisingly comforting scent, "You're too good to me."

"Nonsense!" Fred chided happily, easily picking me right up off the closed toilet I'd been sitting on. He carefully set me back on my feet, my body melding tightly against his as the redhead declared, "We love pranking and making you happy-"

"Getting to do both at once is a real bonus for us," George finished, his voice cheeky and mischievous. I laughed because I knew Hogwarts was in very deep trouble.

xxXxx

I didn't want to go back to class, so the twins opted to skip as well and took me down to the lake for scheming and sunbathing, even though the latter turned rather impossible on the overcast winter day.

I never got cold though, wrapped in my leather jacket and two sets of powerful arms. It was blissful, and relaxing, and... fun.

Around dinner, just as the twins were bickering over who would be the one to hike up to the castle for food, Hermione Granger suddenly appeared in our secluded little lakeside copse. She was just as surprised to see us as we were to see her, the bossy brunette frantically sniffling and hurriedly brushing tears off of her pretty face.

"Hey, love," George immediately called, patting a free seat on his right, "Care to sit a spell and tell us about what bonehead thing little brother's done this time?"

"And keep in mind that we won't take 'no' for an answer," Fred added, comfortably resting his head on my shoulder as he flashed the girl a winning smile.

Hermione sniffled again, but bravely displayed a watery grin as she agreed, "Alright. I suppose it wouldn't hurt anything." She took a seat beside George, carefully folding her small legs beneath herself and primly smoothing out her skirt.

Her position compared to mine made me laugh. She was so poised and proper while I was simply sprawled out in the grass, the tights I was wearing beneath my skirt the only hint of modesty about me.

I was broken from those thoughts by the hurried snapping of twigs and a loud bark that preceded the appearance of my dog in the clearing. He wore a studded collar with a star-shaped metal tag around his neck, and carried a large stick in his slobbering mouth. Excitedly, he ran forward and dropped the stick into Hermione's lap before turning to tackle me to the ground and drool all over my face.

"Hey, Puppy!" I cooed, smiling and giggling as I scratched behind his overly-enthusiastic ear, "Been keeping Hermione here out of trouble, eh? That's my good boy!"

"He's your dog?" The girl enquired sheepishly, "I thought he was another of Hagrid's."

"Nah," I answered cheerfully, allowing the shaggy black animal to snuggle comfortably in my lap, "He's a stray I found over the summer. Such a sweet thing. Yes you are! Yes you are!"

Fred chuckled, scratching the dog behind his ear as he remarked, "Sometimes, I think you might love this mutt more than us!"

"Hmm," I mockingly pondered, "You might be right. I mean, this _mutt_ has never scorched all my hair off, has he?"

"Still holding that against us?" George teased, lightly pinching my side, "Why can't we just let bygones be bygones? After all, you did get yourself some fairly thorough revenge."

Grinning at the memory, I countered, "Indeed. But we're getting off topic. Hermione was just about to tell us what was bothering her."

The girl blushed, shyly picking at the long hem of her skirt as she softly stated, "Harry and Ron are still upset... about me turning in the Firebolt. And now Ron's rat is missing, and he's blaming my cat. He thinks Crookshanks ate him."

"Hmm," Fred pondered deeply, "Scabbers was old. And he'd been looking fairly sick lately. Probably just crept off to die in some dark corner."

"Or he's only lost again," George contributed, trying to balance a blade of grass on the tip of his long freckled nose, "Ron's a hothead. Always has been. Don't pay him any mind when he's rambling on about manufactured events."

"Personally," I stated, scratching my dog's perked ears, "I hope your cat did eat that filthy little creature. The damn thing's a menace!" I got strange looks from all around, leading me to hostilely defend, "I woke up to it _in my bed_!! The nasty thing was crawling on my chest and biting my necklace! Look at these scratches!" I opened a few buttons on my shirt to show the faint red marks all over the valley between my breasts. They itched and made me feel contaminated by whatever plagues the ugly rodent was carrying.

"Ouch," Fred sympathetically offered, reaching out to cautiously draw a finger along the darkest set. His brief touch gave me the shivers and I was slightly disappointed when he drew his hand away after only a brief moment.

But then I realized that my dog was up and growling, barring his teeth right at me as his hackles rose and a feral gleam came into his pale eyes. "Stel..." Fred warned, his hand slowly inching towards his wand. I was frozen, feeling too betrayed and terrified to move. The dog looked like he was only moments from attacking, like he was going to tear out my throat.

My shirt fell open even further, revealing more scratches coming up from my belly, my key hanging between my breasts. George's hand was on his wand as well, both boys preparing to defend me from the crazed animal.

But then, just like that, he bolted off of me, away and into the brush. He was gone and we four Gryffindors were left in a stunned and confused silence.

xxXxx

The twins warned me against interacting with the dog anymore. They were sure it must have caught some sort of distemper sickness. I didn't want to believe them, but I was also afraid so I didn't go looking for him. I told Hagrid to keep an eye out and try to help the puppy if he could. That was really all I had the energy for.

At breakfast the next morning, I stuck close to the twins and Hermione, the four of us claiming the far end of the table. Fred and George viciously defended me against errant comments and unwelcome stares. By the end of the meal, word had gotten around that the Weasley twins were fully prepared to hex anyone who messed with me. Sigh. Those boys will always be my heroes.

They even had a few words with Ron about how mean he was being to Hermione, and the browbeaten redhead kept stealing forlorn glances at the busy-haired girl all morning.

I was beginning to allow myself the slightest bit of optimism about the whole situation. Hell, I might've even been hopeful for some peace as the twins laced their arms with mine and happily told jokes. They were marching me straight off to class, and had promised escorts between classes for as long as the rest of the student body needed to be reminded that I was strictly off-limits.

I believe Fred's exact words were, "Until they get it through their thick fucking heads that _no one_ messes with my girl!" At which George heartily agreed, jabbing his brother with an elbow and whispering something that made Fred blush crimson.

They wouldn't tell me what it was though, and a distraction presented itself before I could ascertain any further information.

Cedric Diggory was walking towards us, his expression determined. The injuries he sustained defending me from Oliver were almost faded, though his eye and cheek still had the shadows of magically healed bruises.

I felt the twins tense on either side of me when the handsome Hufflepuff stopped and stood in our path. "Something we can help you with, Ceddy?" George inquired, not quite outwardly hostile but definitely not at all friendly.

The brunette nodded resolutely and forced a smile, not completely able to hide that he was intimidated by the large, menacing redheads on either side of me. "I just," He began, becoming painfully aware that more and more eyes were settling on our small group, "I have some papers of Stella's I thought I should return." Nervously running his fingers through the sandy fringe that fell into his striking gray eyes, the fifth year dug into his book bag. I realized as he handed me a neat stack of slightly rumpled parchments that he must have collected them after I ran off the day of the fight with Oliver. Cedric had been saving my old school papers for weeks... why?

"Thank you," I stated politely, confused about his motives but suddenly finding it hard to believe that he meant me any harm. I mean, he seemed nice enough... but then, so had Oliver and look where that led.

"You're welcome," The boy returned, blushing lightly as he fidgeted under the intense glares of the twins. "Well, anyways," He finally chirped, backing away hurriedly, "See you around."

And then he was gone, rabbiting away to his house table to the soft murmurs of the gossip-factory already spewing out more stories. Yay.

"That was odd," Fred began slowly, staring at Cedric's retreating form as we continued on our way out of the Hall, "How'd he get your papers?"

"My satchel tore a few weeks ago," I stated, the half truth effortlessly rolling off my tongue, "I guess I didn't gather all the papers back up."

"Oh," George stated, looking at me suspiciously, "Well, that was nice of Diggory to return them."

"Ya," I agreed, looking down at my handful of parchments with an expression of genuine surprise on my face, "It _was_ nice of him..."

xxXxx

I was bored in History of Magic and trying very hard to take my mind off of the whispering and giggling and staring of my classmates. I decided to look through the papers Cedric had returned to me. Most were just old essays I had no use for, but one of them wasn't. It was newer and wasn't written in my own familiar scrawl.

The letting was spiky but neat, and read:

_Dear Stella,  
How are you? I hope Wood didn't hurt you too badly, and it was great how much damage you did to him. Which jinx movied his nose to his arsecrack? I liked that one.  
I'm sorry that the way I reacted to learning your name made you run away before we had a chance to talk more. You seem like a very interesting person and it's not fair for anyone to judge you before they really know you.  
I'd like to get to know you, if that's ok. We can hang out any time you like.  
Sincerely,  
Cedric Diggory.  
P.S. I'm sorry I took so long getting your papers back to you. This letter was harder to write than I thought it would be._

It was very hard for me not to 'Awww' out loud. Come on, that was seriously cute.

But the good feeling did not last long before my whole situation came crashing back down around me. Without delay, I whipped out a piece of parchment and scrawled a curt response:

_Cedric,  
Thanks for your help but I'm really not worth the trouble. Run while you still can.  
Good luck with life,  
Stella Black._

_  
_xxXxx

Saturday was the Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw quidditch game. In the locker room beforehand, Fred and George cornered Oliver. I'm not exactly sure what they did to their dear old captain, but he sheepishly approached me just before the start of the match. He had his eyes on the floor and... no thumbs on his hands...

"I'm very sorry," He apologized softly, looking over his shoulder to where Fred and George were smiling sarcastically and waving the hostage thumbs. I started to giggle uncontrollably.

At rock bottom in the pit of humiliation, Wood squirmed uncomfortably as he continued, "I was an arse and... I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I'm... begging-" He spat the word, like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "-for you to take pity on me for being the sad, pathetic human being that I am and just... punch me a few times in the head to make yourself feel better... please."

I glanced over at the twins, both of whom shot me enthusiastic thumbs-ups... with Oliver's thumbs as well as their own. "Ok," I eagerly agreed, winding up and swinging my fist hard right into his cheek. I hit him about ten times, right in the face, and I may have gone a little overboard because by the end Fred and George had to pull me off him because I had him on the ground and was kicking him pretty hard. It felt good to get that revenge, to put Oliver through what he'd done to me.

"Easy, Stel," Fred soothed, hugging me tightly against his chest, pinning my arms. His breath was hot against my neck as I relaxed into his embrace. I felt him smile. "Better?" He asked playfully, an underlying tenderness that was hard to miss in his voice.

I nodded.

"Good," He chirped, swiftly kissing me on the cheek before slowly releasing me. I finally noticed George returning Oliver's thumbs, as well as helping the keeper off the ground. "I think Wood's learned his lesson," The redhead announced brightly, "And if he wants to keep his thumbs he'll be getting to work right away squashing some of those rumors, won't you, Captain?"

"Yeah," The boy mumbled, speech a little difficult with his lip split open and swollen. He took a few dizzy steps back towards the main locker room. When he was gone, I smiled at the twins, pulling them both into a big hug.

"You guys didn't have to do that for me," I sniffled, slightly over-emotional, "But I love you so much for it!"

"Figured it would help," George stated, squeezing me back, "And once we figured out that Wood was the one who started this whole mess, it was pretty easy to make him see sense."

I laughed, kissing both boys noisily on their cheeks over and over again, back and forth. Between kisses, I answered, "You are my best friends and I love you so much! Now get out there and win that game!"

They did just that.

xxXxx

After the victory, George went off to supervise Wood on his gossip damage-control and Fred took me on a slow walk around the lake. It was peaceful, relaxing and quiet. He put his arm around my shoulders and held me close while we just... talked. I was... honest with him. I told him about how I was doing, really, and it made me feel so much better to just get it all off my chest. He seemed glad that I was finally opening up again, even it it did make him deeply concerned.

"So... you were really going to leave?" He asked me quietly, sounding slightly hurt as his strong arm tightening around me.

With a nod, I replied briefly, "Yes." My answer was met by silence, so after awhile I had to elaborate, "This place is going to kill me."

"Not on my watch," Fred countered playfully, using his limitless humor to try to hide discomfort and fear. I just laughed.

But he stopped me, stepping around so we were facing each other as he put both his hands on my shoulders. "I'm serious," He said, clear blue eyes dark holes in the shadows of night, "I don't know why you're not getting this, Stel. I won't let anything bad happen to you and I'm always going to be here when you need me. You don't have to run."

Hot, heavy tears sprang into my eyes as I pushed him away. "Yes, I do," I answered him, hugging myself and hanging my head as I turned towards the blackened sheet of glass that was the lake, "I know you're trying, but there's nothing for me here but pain and suffering."

There was a pause.

"You're going to run again, aren't you?" Fred accused, his voice deep and very close to angry as it poured over me in waves.

"First chance I get," I answered, staring into the black nothingness of the still lake water, "What is there for me here?"

"Me," He countered immediately, crossing the short distance between us in just several quick strides. He was so close I could almost feel his body heat through the back of my jacket. I turned to find him staring up at me, breathing heavy, his fire red hair in disarray and his eyes blazing wildly.

"I'm here," He insisted, reaching out to cup my face in one rough palm. His touch was so gentle; it translated so much love and caring that I found my eyes fluttering shut as my knees went weak, as all my breath left in one helpless sigh.

"I'm here," He said again, pressing his body flush against mine as he clung to me, as I clung to him. "I'm here," He repeated, "And I don't want you to leave me. Please, don't leave me."

I opened my eyes, breathing raggedly as I stared into his intense expression, as I waited for... something... anything that would explain or relieve the fire building deep in my gut.

After a long few moments of tense anticipation, Fred did nothing.

"George and me," He said, letting go of my arms, stepping away and turning his back. His voice shook weakly as he went on, "And Remus, and Ginny, and, hell, even Percy, we're all here, and we don't want you to leave us."

In sort of a state of shock, I found myself slowly reach out to him. My hand was almost on his shoulder before... for some reason... I pulled it back. I pulled my hand back like I'd just been burned. Hugging myself desperately as my leather jacket suddenly failed to provide the warmth I'd been getting from Fred, I murmured, "It's not enough."

He was startled to hear my voice so close, whirling around and coming face-to-face with me once more. We were almost the same height by then--whether because he'd been growing or I'd stopped, I don't know--and we locked gaze for just a spit second. Later, he told me my blue eyes were sad and pleading, like I was begging him to give me a reason to stay. He reached for me again, pulling me close, and he leaned in like he was going to kiss me...

And then he got body-checked by a giant black dog running frantically along the lake shore. I jumped; Fred ended up splashing backwards into the freezing water.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I ran to help him, giggling uncomfortably as I waded in to help. Scowling, red in the face as his teeth chattered convulsively, the redhead grumbled, "I'm fine... bloody mutt ruins everything..."

"Let's just..." I stated quietly, "Let's just get you inside before you catch cold." Fred gave a disappointed nod and we walked the all the way back to the castle in complete and utter awkward silence.

We arrived to find a whole new host of troubles.

xxXxx

"Ron is an idiot!" I raged, pacing the headmaster's office as I waited for the old man to return. Remus was calmly sat in one of the chairs before Dumbledore's cluttered desk, watching blankly as I paced and swore. "He doesn't know what the hell he saw!" I insisted hotly, kicking over the chair I was meant to occupy, "None of them do! It was probably some arsehole playing a prank! My dad _is not_ a killer!"

"Stella, please," Remus snapped harshly, massaging his graying temples, "You cannot pretend it didn't happen this time. There were witnesses, lots of witnesses, and I won't allow you to go on fooling yourself. Is it going to take Sirius actually succeeding in hurting Harry for you to get over this unhealthy delusion?"

"He's not going to hurt _anyone_!!" I screamed, so close to tears that I was dizzy, choking down sobs with anger, "He's not a murderer or a nutjob! He is an innocent man who is being persecuted by blind fools! You should be fucking ashamed of yourself for not trusting in your best friend-"

"ENOUGH!" My godfather cut me off, jumping to his feet and getting right into my face, "I want you to stop right now! I'm not going to feel guilty for what he did! Your father has cost me everyone I love, James, Lily, Peter, your mother, your sister, and I'm not going to let him drive us apart as well! He did this, Stella. He broke into the Tower with the intention of murdering Harry! He mistook Ron's bed for Harry's and slashed the curtains with a knife! It's a wonder no one was killed! I know it's much easier for you to believe in some elaborate conspiracy that makes him innocent, but you are just going to have to accept the reality of the situation!"

I was so mad. I cocked my fist to punch him, but was unfortunately interrupted by a murmured spell coming from the doorway. My arm froze and I turned to glare at Dumbledore.

"Miss Black," The old man drawled as he magically set me down into a righted chair, "I cannot have you striking my professors."

"Then tell him to stay the hell away from me!" I spat in reply, glaring dangerously at both men as they slowly took their seats. Tenting his fingers, gazing sadly at me over the top of his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore stated very seriously, "I have to ask you a question, Miss Black. I'm sorry to have to do so, but it is necessary. That said, I promise to entirely believe whatever answer you give."

My heart dropped. I felt nauseas. "You want to know if I was the one who gave him the password to the Tower, right?" I demanded, furious that I'd even be accused.

The headmaster nodded.

"Go to hell!!" I snapped, getting to my feet and stomping out of the office.

xxXxx

Word of the break-in spread quickly and I was, of course, blamed for it entirely. When I got back to Gryffindor Tower, Fred and George were quick to drag me away.

"The atmosphere in there is a little hostile," George reported, looking nervously over his shoulder for anyone following us down the hall. With a nod, Fred added, "We're going to camp out somewhere until it cools down a bit."

Uncaring, I allowed them to hide me in the Room of Requirement for the remainder of the weekend.

On Monday, even with the twins at my sides, people threw books and half-eaten food at me, called me a murdering psycho whore right to my face, pushed me down, tried to make me cry. I told myself over and over to not let them get to me. I tried to ignore them; I choked back tears and held my head high and tried to remember some words of wisdom to urge myself on:

_"The bravest thing you can do when you are not brave is to profess courage and act accordingly."  
-Corra Harris_

_"Fire is the test of gold; adversity of strong men."  
-Mohandas Gandhi_

_"Courage is fear that has said its prayers."  
-Dorothy Bernard_

_"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."  
-e.e. cummings_

_"Live as brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts."  
-Cicero_

_"The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next."  
-Mignon McLaughlin_

_"Every minute you are thinking of evil, you might have been thinking of good instead. Refuse to pander to a morbid interest in your own misdeeds. Pick yourself up, be sorry, shake yourself, and go on again."  
-Evelyn Underhill_

After awhile, even reciting those and similar quotes over and over in my head wasn't working, wasn't drowning out the profanity and slurs and urgings for me to just fucking end it all... I was scared because I wasn't entirely sure that last one wasn't coming from inside my own head.

Neville Longbottom was the one who was really responsible for my dad getting the password to the Tower--the boy wrote it down to remember and then lost the parchment he wrote it on--but of course everyone assumed I had given Sirius Black the password.

About a day before the student body managed to discover its mistake from the howler Neville's gran sent him, I found myself cornered coming out of a Potions lesson. I don't know who did it but the _who_ of the action doesn't bother me as much as the _what_.

In a crowded corridor full of witnesses, someone used a large, heavy object to club me hard over the back of the head. Falling immediately to the floor, stunned and disoriented, I distinctively remember hearing most of my present classmates actually _cheer_.

And then I did something I never thought I would: I stayed down, face down on the dank stone floor while everyone walked past me, while some kicked me, a few spit on me, and they all threw out a nasty barb.

"Slag."

"Traitor."

"Bitch."

"Run home to daddy, whore."

"We don't want you here, Death Eater scum."

"You're not going to get away with what you did, cunt."

It felt like forever until they were gone, until the corridor was silent and empty except for the echoes of the insults and the voices screaming inside my head. I forced myself to my feet. I remember being utterly, utterly exhausted, so very tired, so very drained and tired.

I remember suddenly seeing Harry, my little god-brother, appear around the next corner. He looked at me with complete disgust, his upper lip curling as he growled, "I'll never understand why Dumbledore doesn't just expel you."

"That makes two of us," I joked flatly, staring pleadingly at the boy and wishing he could see the truth, wishing he could see past the delusions and lies and conspiracies to the god-sister who still wanted to love him.

"Dumb slut," Harry snarled, green eyes fierce as his fists balled up tight, "You're just as dumb as your father. You tell him that if he wants to kill me, he should be a man about it, not try to attack me in the middle of the night. You tell him to name a time and place and I'll show to end this."

I was horrified, my mouth hanging wide open as I frantically checked for anyone listening in; that kind of statement was idiotic and could have easily led him straight into a trap. Harry was the one being stupid; he was just too angry and blinded to even think.

"Harry-" I tried to warn, only to be cut off as he stalked past me, shoving me hard into the wall with out another word. Feeling lightheaded, unable to breathe, I slid to the floor again. I was tired, so very tired. I curled up in a ball and tried to sleep, just sleep right there in the middle of the cold dungeon floor.

But I was jittery; my mind was racing and the voices were shrieking and pounding and grating on the inside of my skull; I couldn't even close my eyes.

I've known how to break into Snape's various supply cupboards since my first year; I broke into the closest one and drank a sleeping draught. It didn't work fast enough for me so I drank another... And another... And... another... And...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So yes, here I am. Back and feeling better. Thanks for being patient everyone. I'm going to try to get more updates up as soon as possible but my finals are still coming up so don't expect much until winter break. Then I'll have lots of time for writing. Okey dokey. Hope you guys liked it.

Reviews will bring me luck on my finals!


	11. Asylum

Part 11 - Asylum

I woke up and saw nothing but white. white. white. clean. pure. institutional. intense. blinding. ethereal. neon. white.

I let out a groggy groan, tasting dry cotton in my mouth, undoubtedly where they'd stuck the leftover from what had been packed tight inside my throbbing skull. My stomach hurt; my throat was sore; my eyes ached; my ears rang. Fighting back nausea, I tried to curl up on my side, to curl in on myself and retreat back into blissful unconsciousness.

I quickly discovered that I was strapped to the bed.

Thick leather cuffs padded with soft sheepskin were lashed tight around both my wrists, and my ankles, too, and each one was tied securely to the functional metal frame of the thin hospital cot I'd just woken up on. One glance around the small, otherwise empty and completely, maddeningly _white_ room and I was screaming and thrashing in an attempt to escape. I didn't know where the hell I was or how the hell I'd gotten there but it sure as fuck wasn't where I wanted to be.

It felt like forever before a tall male healer dressed all in white entered. He was kind of goofy looking, with big ears and stand-on-end blonde hair and a lopsided smile, which he shot me as he wheeled in a white tray of little pill cups.

"Hi," He stated politely, stopping at my side and seeming completely unfazed by my screaming and struggling, "I'm Healer Wheeler."

I blinked at him in confusion, and then suddenly couldn't stop laughing. "Dear fucking god," I declared, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming from the corners of my eyes into greasy, unkempt hair and my flat, starchy pillow, "Why do I always get the mental health professionals with the punny names?"

It was his turn to look confused, but the young man quickly shrugged it off, probably filing my reaction into a category entitled _Junkies Say the Darndest Things_ before he informed me, "You're in St. Adelaide's Psychiatric Hospital. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Hell fucking no," I responded angrily, "If I had been conscious for that part, then you pricks would have had a lot harder time getting me into these fucking cuffs... by the way, GET THESE FUCKING CUFFS OFF ME!!!"

Healer Wheeler shot me a quirky little smile before busying himself with the tray of pill cups. "Sorry," He stated, "All suicide watch patients are kept restrained until one of the psychiatrists says otherwise."

I blinked dumbly at him, not once, not twice, but thrice. "_Suicide watch_?" I demanded, "You think I'm _suicidal_? Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"I'd say probably the overdose of sleeping draught you drank," Healer Wheeler chuckled warmly, making a few notes on his clipboard before holding out a pill cup, "You took enough to stop your own breathing, you know? And you've been asleep for nearly a week and a half. But, then again, I'm not a psychiatrist so I guess you'd have to ask them why they think you tried to kill yourself. Open up for medication."

"LIKE HELL!!" I shouted, thrashing as best I could still strapped to the bed, "I'm not taking anything!! You get me your fucking manager right now!! I wasn't trying to kill myself!! I was just _tired_!!! I don't belong here!!!"

He gave me another one of his increasingly irritating smiles before darting out to seize my head and force the pills on me. I would've spit them right back in his face, but he held his hand over my mouth and rubbed my throat, like you would for a diseased dog until I had no choice but to reflexively, tearfully swallow. "Relax," The young man soothed as he went back to his clipboard and wheeled tray caddy, "It's not so bad here. You're going to get the help you need."

I was crying, sobbing hopelessly, feeling utterly helpless and completely revolted with myself. Whatever was in the pills slowly seeped into my system, making me calm even though I didn't want to be, even though I was scared and hurt and resentful and just wanted to scream at the whole fucking world. My vision got blurry. The last thing I remember is the wheels on Healer Wheeler's cart squeaking as he pushed it out of my white white room.

xxXxx

St. Adelaide's Wizarding Psychiatric was founded in 1852. Located in scenic Birmingham, it was the first mental health facility run by wizards for wizards, to keep magically gifted loonies from cursing muggle doctors. Like most nuthouses, it had quite a sordid past, complete with involuntary frontal lobotomies for sixty percent of the patients, far sub-par hygienic standards, and a circus-like tour that used to run through twice a day.

_"Step right up folks! Witness the horrors of the mad, mad, mad!! Wailing, frothing, incoherent sideshow freaks!! Come take a peak at God's forgotten children!! Only three sickles! Children under two get in free with a paying adult!"_

I'm not even making this shit up.

The first floor was mostly drunks and vagrants, moaning and sleeping in their own filth as they tried to struggle through their muddled minds enough to even figure out where the hell they were. People reached in through the bars and ripped off huge chunks of their hair; supposedly, hair of the lunatic used to be a rumored to have strong magical properties. And here I'd gone fourteen years of my life without even suspecting I was carrying around a fortune on the top of my head.

The second floor was where they put the bonafide lunatics, the violent schizophrenics and bipolar cases, mostly chained up, strapped to beds, subjected to cruel, ineffective "therapies" such as electroshock and dunking and many others that would have been much more properly labeled as tortures. Second floor was never quiet, never quiet, always filled with screams.

Third floor was where they put those on whom all therapy had failed, those who had been lobotomized and were now incapable of thought or speech or bowel control. The unfortunate souls sat in that institution for the remainder of their miserable lives, drooling and searching for memories of how to function that had been cut straight from their skulls.

Of course, when I was there, none of these practices were still in place. St. Adelaide's was clean and widely regarded; it was doing great work in trying to treat mental illness through magical means, a field which had been mostly ignored aside from the basic use of the cheering charm as a cure-all.

They had added new stories; there were five during my stay. I woke up tied to a bed in a small white room somewhere on the fourth. I spent three days in a drugged stupor before a doctor actually came in to talk to me.

Struggling hard to make my vision focus when I heard the door open and shut, dreading being forced to swallow anymore pills, I looked up and saw a slightly pudgy, unremarkable middle-aged man with wire-rim glasses and salt-and-pepper hair. His nametag read "Dr. R.P. Shokter, M.M.D." I was too out of it to even laugh at yet another punny name.

"What does 'R.P.' stand for?" I questioned deliriously, my voice sounding unfamiliar, far-off, like it was coming out of someone else's mouth, "Is it some kind of euphemism for R.I.P? Because that's kind of ominous, don't you think? It doesn't exactly instill patient confidence."

Hardly paying attention to me as he made notes on his clipboard, the man replied, "Richard Paul. Please, call me Dr. Shokter. I'll be your primary care physician while you're staying here with us."

"'Bout fuckin' time," I quipped, no affect in my words, "Took ya long enough, Dick."

He glared menacingly, correcting, "_Dr. Shokter_."

I glared back the best I could, feeling my bloodshot gray-blue eyes cross stupidly in my skull as I argued, "_Dick_."

"This isn't going to work if you don't cooperate," The doctor reported, stashing his pen away in the front pocket of his pristine white lab coat and folding his arms over his soft gut, "And part of that cooperation will include respecting hospital staff."

"Gimme a break, Dick," I snapped weakly, "I shouldn't even be here. I'm a nut but not a needs-to-be-medicated-and-physically-restrained nut. Take these fucking cuffs off and point me to the nearest emergency exit."

He turned around and left, just like that, calling casually over his shoulder, "I'm decreasing your meds but you won't be let out of restraints until you agree to abide by the rules. Let me know when you change your mind."

Changing my mind took two weeks of solitary confinement.

I remained strapped to the cot. I had to get spoon feed some kind of tasteless, nutrient-rich mush by Healer Wheeler, who'd been given orders not to even speak with me. I had to piss and shit in a bedpan. I got pressure sores all over my back and my arms and legs were constantly cramping from the atrophy they were beginning to suffer.

And the worst of it was that those kindly mental health professionals weren't even keeping me doped up enough for it all to be even remotely bearable. Before, I could decide I was too bored or terrified or humiliated by my situation, shut my eyes, and just drift away from reality for awhile; I could give myself a break. After, it was hard to sleep even at night, lying there in the dark yet still somehow still blindingly bright neon white room with only my thoughts to keep me company, painfully aware of just how far I'd fallen.

If I hadn't been crazy when they brought me in, then that two weeks of isolation torture certainly would have done the trick. I was _begging_ for _Dr. Shokter_ by the end.

I please and thank you-ed my way through an interview, answering his stupid questions with as little sarcasm and swearing as I could manage.

"Are your eating and sleeping habits regular?"

"Much as they can be with three twittering bimbos for roommates and a highly overrated cafeteria."

"How often do you ingest drugs or alcohol?"

"I dunno. Often as I can get them. I've been trying to cut back since the twins made me promise, but you know how it is."

"How often do you experience feelings of despair, paranoia, or persecution?"

"Constantly. Does that chart even have my name on it? How could you not already know that one?"

It was lots of boring shit like that, questions driving at but not really hitting on everyone's favorite subject: what the fuck was wrong with Stella Black.

He eventually came to his point, the whole reason I was in there. "Why did you try to kill yourself?" Dr. Shokter asked, sounding unimpressed and really rather bored.

"I didn't," Was my claim, same as it had always been, "I was tired and couldn't sleep, so I drank a sleeping draught. It wasn't working fast enough, so I drank a few more. This was just a big misunderstanding."

"You stopped your own breathing," He informed me bluntly, pushing his glasses higher up on his long, fat nose before jotting down a few notes on his clipboard, "You were clinically dead for ten minutes, and I'm supposed to believe that it was just a misunderstanding?"

"I know how it must look," I pleaded desperately, "But I really wasn't out to kill myself! I would never do that! I-I... I was just so tired..."

"I see," The man stated, making me want to laugh right in his face--he didn't see at all.

Well, he eventually decided that I'd behaved enough for him and flicked his wand towards my cuffs, opening them as he stated, "You'll find a bathroom through the door if you'd like to clean up before you're taken to group therapy."

And then he left and I was free. My limbs were incredibly weak after being tied down so long. I wobbled uncertainly on my journey towards a slightly open door that I know hadn't been there before Dr. Shokter released me. I didn't care so much. I wasn't tied up anymore; I was being allowed to shower; I was going to get out of that fucking white white room.

The bathroom was small, the same white white as my room, with a toilet, sink, mirror, and open shower. There was a camera bolted to the ceiling in one corner. My other room had a camera in it, but the one in the bathroom surprised me. They were going to watch me shower and piss. It was deeply humiliating.

But I decided I wasn't going to care; I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. I stripped, all the while shamelessly staring right up into the lens, into the blinking little red light. I kept my eyes on the camera throughout my entire shower, even while I dressed again in a pair of clean, pale blue cotton pajamas that had appeared from nowhere.

When I walked out of the bathroom, Healer Wheeler was waiting, blushing. I smirked. "Let me guess," I teased the tall, goofy blonde, "It's your job to watch me shower and make sure I don't try to kill myself?"

"Um, ya," He answered uncomfortably, dark hazel eyes on his uniform white shoes, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," I answered with a shrug, starting towards the door and encouraging to the young man to start leading me to group therapy, whatever the hell that would entail, "It's your job. And I guess it's better that it's a cute boy my own age rather than creepy old Dr. Dick."

Am I bitchy for enjoying the way his whole face turned beet red?

Ya. Thought so.

Hey, I had to keep myself entertained somehow! I would've went mad otherwise!

Well... you know what I mean.

The rest of the hospital turned out to not be so blindingly white. Yes, the walls were painted white, but the floor was cool blue linoleum. There were windows letting sunshine stream inside the sterile building and framed pictures of calming flowers on the walls. It felt unbelievably good just to have _color_.

The room where group was held was connected to Dr. Dick's office; it had a green patterned carpet and white walls and a small circle of uncomfortable green armchairs right in the center. All but one was occupied by the time I arrived.

"Take a seat," Dr. Shokter instructed gruffly, distracted with his clipboard yet again. Healer Wheeler gave me a tight, reassuring smile and nod as he left. I took the free seat across from my shrink.

"Why don't you girls get acquainted while I'm finishing this up," The doctor stated. My fellow loonies immediately sprang into action.

"HI!!" A skinny, bubbly young preteen girl with short black hair chirped from the chair immediately to Dr. Shokter's left, "My name is Victoria!"

"Lindsay," The doctor scolded absentmindedly. The girl blushed, looking ashamed as her bright brown eyes dropped to her feet. "My name isn't really Victoria," She admitted sadly, "It's Lindsay. I'm sorry... I have a problem with lying."

"That's cool, Victoria," I told her with a friendly smile, "My name is Philomel."

"Stella," Dr. Dick snapped, glancing up briefly and sounding very irritated.

I grinned at him, challenging, "What? Her disorder sounds like much more fun than mine!"

"Behave," He warned, "Or you can go back to your room." I quickly shut my mouth. But don't worry, it didn't last long.

Directly to Lindsay/Victoria's left, on my right, there was a perfectly calm, normal-looking young woman with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair and wide green eyes. She looked to be in her early-twenties. "I'm Eden," She stated pleasantly when she saw me staring at her.

"Hiya, Eden," I answered, cutting my eyes nervously at Dr. Shokter as my mouth ran away with me, "So, what landed you in this whack-shack?"

Instead of being offended, the woman gave an imbalanced little grin, reporting, "I like fire."

"Huh?" I responded dumbly.

"Eden is a pyromaniac," The good doctor announced, not looking up from his clipboard as he continued to scribble notes.

I nodded, commenting, "Wicked. Then you'd probably be the one to go to get some fucking cigarettes in this place, huh?"

Eden opened her mouth to answer but thought better of it when Dr. Dick brought his head up to glare at the both of us. There was probably a white white room and cuffs waiting somewhere for Eden as well because she curled up into a small ball and remained silent.

The last member of our little group was seated to my left. She looked like to be around seventeen or eighteen, and was gazing at me shyly through a curtain of sleek, unnaturally long dark hair. "Hi," I said with a smile, "I'm Stella."

She returned the shy smile, stating, "Hello. I'm Claire... I like your hair."

"Thanks, doll," I answered sweetly, "I like yours, too."

She blushed but brightened up a bit, sitting up a little straighter to reveal an angelic porcelain doll face and wide, glassy deep blue eyes. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand towards me, like she was going to pet my hair. It was a little odd but I didn't move. She seemed pretty harmless.

"Claire," Dr. Dick warned quietly. The girl drew her hand back like it had been burned, curling in on herself in much the same way as Eden. That was a lot more disturbing than her trying to touch my hair.

At my confused expression, the pudgy doctor calmly explained, "Claire suffers from a sexual compulsion and knows that touching is against the rules we've agreed upon to encourage her recovery. She needs to learn to keep her hands to herself."

"Are you trying to tell me that being a big slut is a disease?" I gaped incredulously, laughing right in the old man's face, "Well, shit. I guess that's another one you can add to my long list of infirmities."

All the girls laughed, both Claire and Eden uncoiling in order to enjoy the joke. Lindsay/Victoria nearly fell out of her chair in hysterics.

After a few moments of Dr. Shokter yelling at us all to be quite, Claire jumped up out of her seat and launched herself at me, enfolding me in a great big hug and wrapping her long, skinny legs around my waist. She gave a happy sigh. I imagine finally getting some physical contact gave her as much joy as finally getting some color gave me. I hugged her right back. What can I say? I'm a giver.

But it didn't last. A troupe of orderlies stormed in and grabbed Claire, prying her off of me even as she screamed and cried. They stunned her. They shot her up with a syringe full of some narcotic. They put her in a straightjacket. They dragged her away.

xxXxx

Claire was absent for a few weeks and every time I asked about her, Dr. Dick merely brushed me off, the same as he did whenever I demanded to talk to Uncle Remus, or Fred, or George, or Tonks, or asked who was taking care of my turtle, or inquired what they'd done with my mood ring, or insulted the food. I was enraged by the man, by his useless therapies and cruel dictatorship of the hospital that was now my home.

By the time Claire came back, I was already pretty good friends with Victoria and Eden. They were sweet. Victoria (or Lindsay) was twelve and had been locked up by her family just a few months ago for all her lying, which they took to be evidence of some deep psychological disorder. I thought she was just bored with her life. She liked to tell stories and she always had the best ones. In different circumstances, she probably would have been winning writing awards.

I learned that Eden was twenty-one and had been locked up in St. Adelaide's since she was nine, when she started her family's home on fire. They never visited ever. She didn't like to talk too much, but she was a phenomenal painter. She gave me a few of the pictures she did during arts and crafts time and I hung them up in my white white room. The space didn't seem so bad after that.

When Claire came back, she was incredibly calm. But that was because she was pumped full of drugs.

"Hey, doll," I greeted the morning I wandered into the small, pastel pink lounge area to find her sitting alone and staring out a window, "How've you been?"

"Alright," She sighed, disinterested and not even looking at me. She didn't elaborate.

Standing in front of her, I took it upon myself to snap her out of it. "Read any good books lately?" I questioned stupidly, unable to think of anything else to ask.

"No," She responded flatly, seeming like she was barely able to get her big blue eyes to focus on me.

"They doped you up real good, huh?" I asked, walking around behind her and jumping up to sit on the backrest of her chair. She nodded blankly.

"Hmm," I hummed, reaching out to gently comb my fingers through her long dark hair. It was all in disarray, tangled and not sleek like I remembered it from our brief meeting. "It'll wear off soon," I comforted as I set to work undoing all the damage that had been done to her hair during the weeks of neglect. It was a fairly time-consuming process, but I didn't mind and neither did she. When you're locked up, you have to learn pretty quickly that keeping occupied is vital to keeping yourself sane... well, you know what I mean.

After about a half hour, her hair was untangled and shined like a length of silk. She had tears streaming down her face. I leaned down and put my arms around her neck, hugging her tight as she began to just all out bawl.

Dr. Dick came running in at the noise, two orderlies trailing behind him. "What's going on in here?" He demanded, all blustery and out of breath after the short jog from his office, "Separate right now!! You know the rules!!"

I couldn't resist the smirk. "Ya, you've made them very clear," I placated, not letting go of Claire as she continued to sob, "Only, there is no rule against me touching her, only her touching anyone else."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to yell but no sound would come out. I had him so beat.

"Just go away, Doc," I snapped, rocking Claire as she turned her face against my shoulder, "I may be shit at comforting crying girls, but I have to believe I'm _way_ better at it than you are."

He stood right where he was, mouth gaping.

I shooed him away with a dismissive little wave, turning my back on him and his orderlies as I cooed to Claire, "It's alright, sweetie. You go ahead and let it all out. I gotcha."

xxXxx

Dr. Dick changed the rule that afternoon: Claire couldn't touch anyone and no one was allowed to touch her, either. I argued, of course, but the good shrink had a very small fuse where I was concerned and there was only so much I could do for the girl short of getting myself thrown back into solitary. Regardless of what anyone may tell you, I do know how to pick my battles.

With Claire back, my days got a big more interesting. Don't get me wrong, Victoria and Eden were great, but Victoria, while entertaining, was far too young for me to really talk to and Eden, while a bit more at my maturity level, was shy and reserved and, due to having been locked up so early in life, astoundingly innocent and naive.

But then there was Claire, loud, boisterous, _funny_ (when she wasn't drugged, of course), and it was definitely easier to relate to her.

She had also figured out a way to override the door locks and loop the security feeds of the cameras in our rooms with just a small, untraceable amount of wandless magic. I had not yet learned any amount of controllable wandless magic so that was very useful.

She liked coming into my room late at night so we could talk, just the two of us, with no prying eyes or ears. I would brush and braid her hair while she painted my toes with what was left of some nail polish she'd gotten an orderly to smuggle in for her over two years ago. She paid him for the service with sex, but that was before the arrangement was discovered and he'd been fired and most of what he'd been bringing in for her, nail polish, make up, candy, magazines, had been confiscated. Having to pay the orderly with sex didn't bother her as much as her hard earned stash being taken away.

We talked about stuff like that. For the first time, I had a real... girl friend, the kind you can talk about sex with. I love the twins, but there was no way in hell I wanted to tell them about everything that happened between me and Oliver. Ginny was too young, Hermione was too young and too loyal to Harry, and Tonks was just too... Tonks... too my cousin.

Claire was older and wiser and brought some insight into my situation. I didn't feel quite as stupid and betrayed after she told me that she'd also been tricked by boys who had pretended to be nice and turned out to be ruthless and borderline psychotic.

"You really pulled a knife on him though?" She gaped, seeming impressed as she held out a piece of stale piece of Drooble's Best from her stash. She was seated on the ground next to my bed. I was on the bed, one of my legs over her shoulder as she painted my toes bright pink and I brushed and braided her unnaturally long dark hair.

I grinned, popping the gum into my mouth and chomping happily. "Yup," I answered, quite proud as I blew a big bubble and let it pop against my nose before, "He should have just left me alone. It was bad enough, you know? Him turning out to be such an arsehole, but then he had to go and start attacking me? How would that help the situation?"

"And you couldn't have gone to the teachers?" Claire asked quiet.

Shaking my head, I spread my toes a little further and answered, "He's everybody's golden boy, captain of the quidditch team, destined for superstardom. They wouldn't have believed me."

"That's messed up," She responded, snapping her gum loudly, "What about your uncle though? He would've done something to help you."

I snorted. "Ya, I can just imagine the conversation," I deadpanned, turning on my best bimbo voice as I mocked, "'Um, Uncle Remus, this seventh year I've been secretly fucking got mad when I refused to be his girlfriend, and, like, now he wants to hurt me. Can you... I dunno, call him mummy and get him spanked?'"

Claire laughed, finishing the polish job and blowing lightly on my toes as she said, "Well, it would have been better than getting beat up again!"

"Or he would've shipped me off to the whack shack earlier," I grumbled, finishing off Claire's elaborate French braid with a small rubber band.

She got really quiet for a few moments, then turned around, going up onto her knees between my legs. "Is it really that bad though?" She asked flatly.

I raised an eyebrow at her, stating, "I have severe problems with authority and being held against my will. What do you think?"

"But," She started softly, licking her lips slightly as she looked right up at me with wide open, deep blue eyes, "Isn't there anything about this place you like?" She rose up a little higher, putting herself eye to eye with me. She reached out and cupped my face in one smooth palm as she pleaded, "_Anything_?"

"What are you-" I started to ask, only to be cut off when she leaned in and kissed me, soft but insistent and sugary.

After the briefest of moments, I pushed her away, shocked and utterly confused. "Claire," I gaped, "I'm straight."

"So am I," She answered impishly, leaning in for another kiss.

I held her back. "No," I said, "Really. I don't like girls, and I only like you as a friend... sorry."

She sat back on her heels, pouting like I'd just taken away her favorite toy. "That sucks," She grumbled petulantly, "I thought... well, never mind. Guess I should get to work on one of the orderlies then... or maybe Healer Wheeler. He's kind of cute."

Relieved as the awkwardness passed effortlessly, I smirked, snapping my gum as I agreed, "Ya, he kind of is. Quirky, but quirky is good... I heard that his first name is Henry..."

xxXxx

Weeks passed. The therapy did me little good; private sessions with Dr. Dick were awkward and unproductive and group always turned into chatting time. My days were boring as hell and my nights weren't as strange as I thought they would be. Claire didn't try to kiss me again and things seemed pretty much normal... well, normal for a nuthouse, anyways.

The last week of March was exciting. My birthday was coming up, that very Friday, in fact, and I'd been told by Dr. Dick that, since I'd been behaving for the most part, he would allow me visitors that day. The twins were going to come! And Remus, and Tonks, and Auntie Andromeda, and Uncle Ted! They were going to let me have a cake, and presents, and my fellow loony tunes were going to be allowed to participate!

It was all anyone could talk about.

Well, that and who we thought wasn't going to get the privilege of attending.

"No way is Dr. Dick letting Eden into the party," Claire smugly announced as were all sitting around in the lounge the night before. As per the rules, no one was within arms length of our resident sexual compulsive.

"Why do you say that?" Eden asked quietly, wide green eyes growing wet with impending tears.

Rolling her eyes, Claire responded snappishly, "Hello! A birthday cake means candles. Candles mean fire. Fire in your hands means we all get to die a really unpleasant kind of death."

Eden sadly hung her head, looking ashamed as she drew her thin knees up into her chest, as her long strawberry blonde hair fell around her pale face.

I patted her on the shoulder, soothing, "I'm sure you'll be allowed in... and I'll just blow out the candles really quick, before you even get a chance to get tempted by them." The young woman shot me a shy, grateful smile.

"Quit being a bitch, Claire," Victoria piped in, the small twelve-year-old somehow managing to take up more space on the sofa she'd claimed than all the rest of us put together, "If anyone won't be allowed in, it's you. There'll be boys there and, besides that, you're still in trouble for pinching Healer Wheeler's bum."

I snickered. That was a very funny day. He squeaked pretty damn loud and dropped a tray of pills onto Dr. Dick's head.

Claire scowled, contemplating deeply. After only a few moments, her pretty face broke into an absolutely _devious_ grin. "You know what we could do?" She whispered, making us all lean in closer to hear, "We could break into Dr. Dick's office tonight and get a look at our files. He has to have been making notes about who he's allowing to go to the party."

"We'll get in _so_ much trouble," Eden gasped, wide-eyed.

Smiling brightly, I slung an arm around her thin shoulders and excitedly chirped, "Only if we get caught! Besides, it sounds smashing! I haven't been up to any real trouble in ages and I'm going through withdrawals!"

So it was decided. That night, Claire worked her magic on the security system and she, Victoria, Eden, and I crept out of our rooms and into Dr. Dick's office. It was a meticulously tidy room, so we had to be careful not to mess anything up or he would know someone had been in there. All the same, I was really curious as to what he had written about me.

After digging all our files out of his cabinets, the girls and I scattered ourselves throughout and read by the dim moonlight coming through the windows. I must have gone over my file a hundred times, committing the most troubling passage to memory:

_"Miss Black's high level of intelligence makes her particularly vulnerable to paranoia. Fantasies of persecution and conspiracy are common in her speech and her prior physician has made notes in her chart that they have previously manifested themselves as visual and auditory hallucinations. Although I have yet to succeed in persuading Miss Black to open up about the events of her childhood, I suspect that her psychoses and delusions stem almost exclusively from the trauma of her father's arrest, her mother's miscarriage, and her mother's death. Miss Black has hinted at feelings of crushing guilt surrounding all three events. I am truly unsure if there is anything medicine can do to help her get past these feelings and I don't expect to be able to release her until she has had at least several years of intensive therapy in order to come to terms with her past."_

My mouth dropped open. Several _years_ of treatment.

Fuck.

I was going to be stuck there for _years_!!

_YEARS_!!

"This is fucking bullshit!" I raged, barely remembering to keep my voice down, "Dr. Dick is a goddamn quack!!"

"Lemme see," Claire said, scooting over to sit close against my side as she tugged the file out of my fisted hands. Her eyes skimmed the notes. Her slight smirk did not match her statement of, "That sucks."

I glared at her, accusing, "You don't seem all that broken up about it."

Shrugging, the young woman answered, "Hey, I've got life sentence of my own over here. At least you're going to be there to keep me company."

I leaned back against the wall and stared into the dim room. That's when it hit me.

It _was_ a life sentence.

xxXxx

I couldn't sleep and I walked around in a fog during the early morning hours of my birthday. The weight of my situation felt like it was literally crushing me, making it hard to breathe. Most young people can't think of the rest of their life as a whole. There's too much time to fill and too many variables, so much potential for both fun and heartbreak.

I thought about the rest of my life and realized that I would probably be seeing the same rooms, the same doctors and patients for the rest of it.

Healer Wheeler set a tray of food in front of me during breakfast, the exact same toaster waffles we had every Friday morning, and I had to run out of the room crying. I barely made it to a bathroom before I threw up.

But I tried so hard to hold it together. I wanted a birthday party. I wanted to see Uncle Remus and the twins, Auntie Andromeda, Uncle Ted, and Tonks. I _had_ to see my family.

Remus arrived at around noon with the twins in tow. I was sitting curled on one of the couches in the lounge, ignoring the chattering going on around me as the other girls hung some streamers. I was staring blankly out the window, trying my hardest not to cry and wishing to be anywhere else in the world.

"Stella?" I heard a voice calling my name, but it sounded far off and inconsequential. "Stella?" It persisted, "Some of your visitors are here."

I turned, blinking up into Healer Wheeler's face. He smiled goofily, asking, "Aren't you excited?"

"Thrilled," I said, gingerly getting to my feet because, suddenly, my whole body ached. I felt like a frail old woman and I'd barley just turned fifteen. I felt... hopeless.

Slowly picking my head up, I saw Remus in the doorway, grinning sheepishly and flanked by the twins, George on the right, Fred on the left. Both boys had let their red hair grow out a little longer than normal. It was shaggy against their broad shoulders and they seemed... taller. more mature. more serious.

As soon as I acknowledged their presence, both boys ran straight at me and dive-tackled me into the floor, both babbling a mile a minute as they hugged me fiercely and kept kissing my cheeks.

But I was far gone by then because not even the twins could lighten my mood. I stared blankly at both of them, not managing to conjure the warmth and happiness that should've been automatic. "Hey, guys," I stated flatly, "Happy birthday."

And that was how the rest of the day went, hopeless rage smothering me to nothingness, making it impossible for me to appreciate my best friends, my family, the people I loved.

I know now how much I scared them. Really, they all expected to show up and have me bitch them out, maybe throw things, crack some inappropriate jokes. Dr. Dick had been telling them that I was oppositional, but doing fine. The despair they found must've been... heartbreaking.

Fred looked completely crushed. He wouldn't let go of my hand and kept staring at me with big, sad blue eyes, talking to me gently and trying to prompt some kind of expected reaction out of my near-catatonia.

It didn't happen.

I don't remember when they left. I didn't notice.

Afterwards, Dr. Dick tried to talk to me about what was wrong. It was hard to talk at that point. My mouth felt like it was full of taffy.

A few days later, he prescribed a stronger anti-depressant he'd been working on.

The next month was an anesthetized blur.

xxXxx

So, ya, April passed into May. Halfway through the month, Dr. Dick tried another anti-depressant cocktail, one he said hopefully wouldn't make me so listless.

It's hard to be listless when you're hurling your guts out for hours straight, vomiting so hard that what's coming up stops being food, stops being acid and bile and becomes just blood from the ulcerated sores on your esophagus.

I was on bed rest until the start of June, on medications to help my throat heal, painkillers.

I liked painkillers.

I lost all the weight I'd put back on since coming to the hospital, and then I lost some more. In my more lucid moments, I counted the sharp cuts of my rib bones to pass the time. I always forgot the number I came up with soon after.

June 9th was a full moon. I had no idea at the time. Hell, I probably couldn't have even told you what year it was.

My door opened in the middle of the night. I wouldn't have even noticed if it hadn't been followed by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulders and hissing an insistent, "PSST!"

I merely groaned, unable to summon the strength to move.

"Stella!" It was Claire, I realized, "Stella! Wake up! Come on! We're getting out of here!"

"Huh?" I grunted dumbly, dizzy as I faded out of the painkiller fog. She was standing over me, unnaturally long dark hair falling around her pretty face as her wild blue eyes bored into mine.

"I understand now!" She hissed in a loud, unbalanced whisper, "Why you've been sad! We shouldn't be stuck _here_ together! We should be out _there_ together! Now _come on_!!" She seized me by the wrist, yanked my numb, limp body up out of the bed, and dragged me into the hallway.

We stalked through the dim corridors in complete silence, a dull buzz in my ears the only sound I could hear over my own labored breathing. Claire's progress through the building made me dizzy and I couldn't really keep up with where we were, where we were going, and I'd already forgotten why.

And then, just like that, we were outside. The night air was crisp, sharp and... intoxicating. My first lungful was like candy, sweet and cool and I wanted _more_. I got my eyes to focus a bit more and gazed at the deserted streets of Birmingham, up at the crystal clear night sky and gorgeous, heavy glowing moon.

"Wow," I gasped, moved to tears just from the beauty all around me as I rediscovered the world. "Wow," Was all I could come up with, over and over again. I sobbed it over and over again as Claire pulled me after her down the streets, racing us further and further away from the hell that was St. Adelaide's.

I have no idea how long it was until she finally pulled me into a dark alley and let us take a break. I was breathing so hard, crying and gasping for air but so fucking amazed to be free of that place. Doubled over to catch her own breath, Claire glanced over and shot me a cocky smirk.

Before I had time to think about it much, I found myself grabbing her in a tight hug, bawling hysterically into her neck, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"No worries," She answered brightly, giving me one last squeeze before reluctantly pulling away and holding up a small laundry sack she'd been carrying, "Let's get changed into some normal clothes before we go on. I snatched our stuff out of the property room before I came for you."

"You are a genius, Claire!" I beamed, the drugs in my system wearing off but still making me tired, even though I didn't want to be because I was so excited. The dark-haired girl of just eighteen grinned as she handed me the school uniform and leather jacket in which I'd been brought to the hospital.

Clumsily but eagerly stripping off my shirt, I chattered, "This is amazing! Why didn't you ever breakout before if you could?"

"Because," She answered, digging what I elatedly recognized to be my mood ring out of the bottom of the satchel and handing it over to me, "I didn't ever have anyone to escape _with_. This will be great! We'll be together and we'll have so much fun!"

"Definitely!" I agreed, sliding on my ring and stepping out of the faded white hospital scrubs, "I can't wait to get out of here! Do you have a plan? Do you know where we should head to? My vote is cast for everywhere but right fucking here and-"

I finally got around to noticing how close to me she'd gotten, the predatory gleam in her dark eyes as they traveled up and down my nearly-naked body. "What are you doing?" I asked, uncomfortable and rather terrified as she backed me against the icy brick wall.

She smiled--I'd never before realized how demented her smile was--and slowly brought her hands out to ghost the skin of my ribcage. I shivered and tried to pull away but there was nowhere for me to go.

"It doesn't matter where we go," She said, gaze locked with mine as her fingers trailed higher and picked idly at my plain, psycho-friendly cotton bra, "Just so long as we're together.

And then she leaned in and kissed me, sweet and insistent, and was absolutely prepared for my objection. No sooner had I caught on to what was happening than my hands flew up to her shoulders, flew up to try to push her away and remind the young woman, yet again, that I wasn't interested in her like that.

But she didn't have painkillers coursing through her system. She hadn't been depressed and bedridden and near-catatonic for over two months. She wasn't weak and slow. She wasn't very much bigger than me, but she was stronger at that moment. She had the advantage.

She grabbed my wrists and pinned them roughly back against the wall.

I cried out into the mouth bruising mine, tears coming down my face as the force of the kiss ground my skull hard into the bricks. She was grinding herself against my thin thigh, hot and damp and also in just the standard-issue white cotton panties and bra. Her tongue slid and wriggled against mine as I tried to scream.

"Claire, stop it!" I shouted as soon as she released my mouth in favor of trailing light, passionate, demanding kisses down my throat, "Claire! Stop! Get off me! Let go!"

Her lean body was pressed flush against mine, our breasts mashed together almost painfully and our stomachs melded with sweat from the run and our legs tangling as I struggled. Tears stung my eyes. This was _not_ happening.

But it was.

Claire continued to hold me captive, both my wrists trapped in one of her nimble hands as she used the other to tease down the cups of my bra. When my breasts were bared to her, she began to pet and grope them, happily sighing, "It's ok, baby. No one can keep us apart now. We'll be together."

"N-No!" I stuttered, utterly horrified to find my body reacting to her gentle, expert touches, to find my nipples hard and aching in the cold air, my skin flushed and tense. "Claire, stop!" I ordered, "Stop right now! I don't want this! I don't like you like that! Please, just _stop_!" I kicked and thrashed and tried to buck her off of me.

"Shhh, don't be afraid," She cooed lovingly, ignoring my efforts to escape and easily preventing them, her free hand drifting lower as she began nuzzling the sensitive points of my breasts, "I'll take care of you."

I fought. I tried, I... but the drugs... my vision was blurry from tears and it was dark and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't get away and Claire's hand was suddenly in my panties and her fingers were sliding into the slick folds at the crux of my legs. Sobbing hysterically, I squeezed my thighs together in an attempt to keep her from touching me but she easily pried them apart, situated herself between them and held them apart as she began to stroke and pet.

And I was gasping, crying frantically and feeling so ashamed of myself because it felt so good. I didn't want it to feel good. I didn't want it at all.

It's a bit of a haze after that, seemingly endless minutes of electric touches and heavy breathing as I continued to cry and whimper, "No," Claire whispering that she loved me as she brought me off and took care of herself by simply rutting against my hip, just standing there, trembling and panting and naked for the longest time. Stunned.

But it all came crashing down again. I was hurt, betrayed and violated, and I needed her off of me or else I was going to break.

"Claire," I commanded, only vaguely aware of my voice cracking as the tears continued to fall, "Get off."

"But I like being close to you," She soothed, face pressed against my neck, half dozing in her oblivious post-orgasmic bliss. She hugged me against herself, her hands starting to drift again as I felt her smile against me. "Once more before we leave, baby?" She offered silkily.

I fucking lost it, all out bawling once more as I used her dropped guard to get my hands free and shove her as hard as I could away from me.

She stumbled backwards in slow motion, arms flailing as she tried to keep balanced, blue eyes wide with confusion and fear. She fell.

The back of her head hit hard against a locked fuse box. The meeting of skull and metal made a deep, resonating gong that echoed through the alley and off the cool night air, that drowned out Claire's startled yelp of pain. She dropped limply to the dirty concrete floor, unnaturally dark hair spread out all around her body, arms flung out at odd angles, and plain white underwear in an almost-accidental, almost-innocent disarray.

I knew she was dead because her eyes froze straight up and her chest stopped moving.

I slid down the wall where I was, shivering and stunned, and hugged my knees fiercely against my chest. I must have sat there for at least an hour in the dark, just staring at the body of my friend, my attacker, not moving and trying to make sense of what had happened to me.

Eventually, I got up. I changed my underwear because I just... didn't want the ones I'd been wearing when... I dressed, red plaid mini-skirt, white blouse, black mary-janes, black leather jacket, my key necklace and my wand. I found my switchblade in the pocket where I left it and tried to figure out if I would have used it on Claire, if I would have used it to stop her. I didn't want to hurt her but I didn't want what she did to me either.

But she was dead.

I had to remember that. Claire was dead and I was the one who killed her. I was a murderer. I murdered my friend, my friend, my attacker, Claire.

She was dead.

Still dazed, I wandered out onto the streets of Birmingham.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hehe, so, too weird? Just weird enough? Be sure to let me know! ;P


	12. Home Again

Part 12 - Home Again

It was still dark when fate presented me with my next course of action.

It was still dark early in the morning on June 10th. The streets of Birmingham were still mostly deserted.

I'd been wandering around for hours since I killed Claire, my mind caught somewhere between a panic overload and a complete shutdown.

I had just been raped by a woman. I had just murdered one of my friends. And they just so happened to be the same person.

Talk about a head trip.

The neighborhood I was in was sort of bad, one of those places grownups tell young girls not to wander through alone, and especially not at night. I was in a dazed stupor, my eyes frozen in front of myself, when a nervous-looking middle-aged man suddenly fell into step beside me.

Even though I knew he was there, it still took me almost half a block to actually notice him. I turned slightly and saw that he was a brunette with thinning hair, with wire-rimmed glasses and an average physique that had gone soft from years of neglect. He gave me a jumpy smile, fiddling with his glasses and smoothing down out his cheap suit before asking, "How much?"

"What?" I replied, unable to comprehend the meaning in his words as my slow, drug-addled brain continued to struggle with the previous events of the evening.

Glancing anxiously up and down the street, the man clarified, "How much for straight sex? Do I pay for the room, too?"

My feet stopped moving and it felt like I'd been slapped across the face.

He thought I was a prostitute.

Looking back, I suppose the super-short school-girl mini and the fact that I was strolling in that neighborhood at night probably made me fit the part. However, being called a hooker was not beneficial to my mental health at the time.

I don't know how I got the idea into my head, but the next thing I knew I was smiling silkily at him, practically purring as I stepped real close and cooed, "Who needs a room, big boy?" I drew a gentle finger down the line of his convulsively bobbing throat and gestured to a dark, deserted alley over my shoulder, challenging, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

He just about blew his load right there, beginning to drool as he eagerly demanded, "How much?"

After a brief moment of contemplation, I offered, "A hundred."

"Fifty," He argued.

"Seventy-five," I countered.

"Done," He chirped.

Smiling, I grabbed him by the wrist and led him along behind me into the alley. Once there I pushed him into the wall and ground against him as he hurriedly began tugging me out of my clothes, ripping open my shirt, flipping up my skirt and tearing at my thong in a rush to get it off.

I only had to kiss him once, bite down my gag reflex as I cupped my hand against the front of his trousers in order to elicit a moment of distraction, a low, frantic moan.

Then I dug my switchblade out of the pocket of my leather jacket, pushed the button and pressed the knife right up against his Adam's apple as I stepped back. "Give me your wallet," I ordered coldly.

He stood there, frozen to the spot, eyes wide and startled and desperate, his hard cock already leaking a dark stain against the tent of his crotch. "What?" He gaped, not enough blood flowing to the brain he was in need of at the moment.

I smirked wickedly, repeating very slowly, "Give. Me. Your. Wallet. You. Stupid. Fuck." I was hoping he wouldn't argue or try to fight back. I was still weak and drugged and I really don't think I could have taken him.

But I had the knife, and he was scared shitless and whimpered as he handed over the wad of bills and leather. Still holding him at knifepoint, not bothering to close my shirt, I idly flipped through it. I was rather pleased to find several hundred dollars in cash, as well as credit cards and I.D.'s and several pictures of a pretty blonde woman and three young children.

"Wife and kids?" I inquired flatly as I held up a charming photo of the smiling foursome.

The man nodded dumbly, seeming ashamed now on top of afraid.

Rolling my eyes, I tucked the money and cards away and scolded, "You have a woman at home who loves you, you have children with her, and you're out here in the middle of the night trolling for tail? What is wrong with you?"

His gaze fell to his feet for a brief moment, before he remembered that I had a knife on him and he should probably keep an eye on it. The shame was still clearly present.

"Go home, you idiot," I commanded, shoving him off down the alley and throwing his empty wallet at the back of his head, "And don't ever let me catch you out here again! I've got your address now and I won't hesitate to pay your wife a visit if I even _hear_ of you pulling anymore of this bullshit!"

For a few seconds, he stumbled and then stared at me, like he was unsure if he should listen or not. Eventually, he decided that he probably should and took off running.

I shook my head at him and counted up my cash before walking to the bus station. I bought a ticket to London.

xxXxx

I spent the next week posing as a hooker and robbing anyone who attempted to purchase my services. It was pretty fun, actually. I didn't feel bad about stealing from men who were trying to pay for sex, especially since most of them had wives or girlfriends. I targeted the rich guys so by the end of the week I had almost five thousand dollars in cold hard cash. I made even more selling their I.D.'s and credit cards.

Unfortunately, that was about the time the friendly neighborhood pimp figured out what I was doing. He wasn't too fond of me stealing business and scaring away customers, so he started trying to track me down. He almost caught me one night and I decided that it was time to skip town.

But I didn't know where to go.

I knew where not to go, that was for sure. I wouldn't go back to Hogwarts or the loony bin. I'd even begun planning an elaborate self-sacrifice if anyone tried to send me to either.

It was an odd time in my life.

So I decided to, once again, let fate make the call. I cut my hair short and dyed it black and bright purple and set off for Diagon Alley, for the public floos.

Just before stepping in, I saw a Daily Prophet tacked to the wall. The headline read: "Sirius Black Still At Large."

I grinned, threw down a handful of floo powder and called out, "My destiny."

xxXxx

Apparently, "my destiny" sounds very similar to the Arabic name of a wizarding bar in Damietta, Egypt.

Who knew?

The city was hot, so _alive_ and utterly gorgeous there along the coast of the Mediterranean. I felt more like a person again just from being there.

My path set now, I bought a small motor boat and headed down the Nile River. I went through Cairo, Asyut, Luxor, and Lake Nasser before making it into Sudan. Next came Atbara, Omdurman, and the capital city of Khartoum.

The Nile splits there, into the White Nile and the Blue Nile. I stayed on the White, continuing on through Sudan, through Kusti, Bor, and Nimule. Then there was Uganda, where the White Nile becomes the Albert Nile. I followed it to Lake Albert, on the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. From there, I hopped over to the Victoria Nile, following it through Lake Kwania and Lake Kyoga, and then into Lake Victoria itself. I stayed along the west coast of the lake, visiting the capital city of Kampala before making my way onwards and into Tanzania.

That was where the convenient waterway ended for me, so I sold my boat and bought a bicycle and kept on heading south. The regions I went through spoke mostly Arabic, French, and English. My French was decent and my Arabic was mediocre, although I picked it, along with some of the native languages, up quickly as I traveled.

After spending so many months in the dead zone of the hospital, my brain was firing on high in celebration of being back in the world. Every sensation was heightened, smells smelled like heaven, good food could make me whimper in pleasure, and the intense sun caressing my bare skin was the most beautiful feeling in the whole world, chased away a cold I hadn't even realized was lurking deep inside me.

And I actually did ok. I was completely sober the whole time I was traveling and... I didn't feel so hopeless and afraid all the time. That made all the difference.

I tried not to think about Claire, but I still did sometimes. I cried during those times, feeling confused and betrayed and disgusted with what happened... and so sorry. so guilty. so angry.

I was in Mwanza when I came ashore but made it to Tabora a week or two of long, hot days of riding, where, by chance, I found use of an unguarded floo. I was pretty sick of bike riding and had about three seconds to decide anywhere in the world I wanted to go and, almost without thinking, I called out, "The Burrow."

xxXxx

Six months had passed while I was on my journey through Africa, my journey without a real destination, my journey to nowhere.

It hadn't seemed like six months. Hell, it seemed more like six minutes to me, six days at the most. But, there it was: six months. I'd been missing for six months.

And life had kept going without me in it.

It was late November when I arrived, and the Burrow was deserted when I fell out of the fireplace. That was good. I wanted to be there, but I knew if anyone saw me, they'd send me back to school or the nut house.

I raided the kitchen and holed up in the twins' bedroom.

For two weeks.

I still giggle over it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't notice me for a whole two weeks.

I'd probably still be hiding under Fred's bed if it hadn't been for Charlie showing up unexpectedly.

I'd been rather out of the loop as far as wizarding news went. I didn't want to be recognized and dragged back, so I had tried my best to steer clear of wizard communities and to use magic as little as possible. I had no idea about my dad's escape from Ministry custody in June or about the Triwizard Tournament or about the scandal with Harry being a champion along with Cedric Diggory.

I had no idea that Charlie would be bringing dragons across the ocean for the first task, or that he would decide to pop in to visit his parents once they were settled on the Hogwarts grounds.

I'd gotten fairly used to the schedule by then, when Mr. Weasley left for work and Mrs. Weasley left to run errands or visit friends. I timed my excursions outside the room to coincide with them.

So, imagine my surprise when I wandered into the kitchen that Monday afternoon to restock my food supply and smacked straight into a broad, solid chest.

"OOF!" I cried out sharply, immediately getting knocked straight on my arse. Confused and apprehensive, I looked up and Charlie Weasley was staring down at me, his mouth hanging wide open, a sandwich abandoned in midair halfway to it.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" He demanded angrily, snatching his wand out of the waistband of his low-slung blue jeans and holding it on me like he was daring me to just _try_ to attack him. It might have been scary if wasn't still holding the ham and cheese.

I smiled sheepishly, asking, "Is it a good thing or a bad thing that you don't recognize me?"

He stared hard for a few long moments.

I can't say I blame him for not knowing who I was. I looked quite different since he saw me last. My hair was a lot shorter, barely skimming my shoulders, uneven and spiky and hanging in my gray-blue eyes. The blonde roots had grown out so I had sort of a strange tri-color thing going on as it meshed with the faded black and purple dyes. I was a little taller and a little thinner, though probably more fit and muscular and healthy from my time in the boat and on the bike. My tan was dark from being in the sun so much, and I had long ago abandoned my school girl uniform in favor of a backless pale purple halter and a pair of sturdy but ripped-up jeans.

I must've looked like an entirely different person.

But he did finally get it, blue eyes widening as his wand arm sagged and he asked disbelievingly, "Stella?"

"The one and the only," I countered, carefully getting back to my feet. Smiling cautiously, I asked, "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"Tell on you?" He shouted wildly, "Stella, you've been missing for six bloody months!! Everyone's been going ape shit trying to find you!!"

"Really?" I inquired flatly, "Six months? That long? Huh..."

It really didn't seem like that long.

"Where the hell have you been?" Charlie demanded, seizing me by the arm and steering me to take a seat at the kitchen table, "Are you alright? How did you get back here?"

"I'm fine," I stated evenly, lying only a little because I wasn't fine but I wasn't a complete mess anymore either. I didn't drink anymore, I hadn't heard any voices lately, and being away from The Hell That Was Hogwarts had done wonders for my self-esteem, as well as my self-respect.

"I've been in Africa," I continued brightly, sort of hoping he wouldn't ask anymore questions even though I already knew he would, "I explored down the Nile and then... and then I came here. I couldn't really think of anywhere else to go and I got tired of biking... are you going to tell them I'm here?"

I'd gone so long without being stared at like I was a mental case that seeing the look from Charlie felt weird and a bit insulting. "Mum and Dad don't know you're here?" He asked, grabbing a fistful off his close-cropped ginger hair as he sank down into the chair next to mine, "When did you arrive?"

My gaze fell to my lap, where I was nervously picking at my fingernails. I shrugged, quietly answering, "About two weeks ago."

"TWO WEEKS?" He shouted, making me jump as he leapt up to his feet and began to pace. I was getting nervous. I wanted to run again but I knew that Charlie wasn't going to let me. The Weasley's were just like that.

"You've been here for two bloody weeks and you're just stopping in to tell someone _now_?" He yelped, looking to be at the end of his rope as he strolled restlessly from one end of the kitchen to the other and back again.

With a nervous little chuckle, I stated, "Um, not exactly..."

He stared at me. Then it clicked. "You've been living _here_?" He gaped, strong, square jaw hanging wide open, "Without telling my parents? Without them _noticing_?"

"Well, in all fairness," I said, "I have been trying to keep under their radar so them not noticing is really not their own faults."

"Stella," He groaned, tugging sharply on his hair, "What the hell are we going to do with you?"

"You could pretend you never saw me," I suggested hopefully, "I'll just hide until the twins come home for break so I can see them before I decide what to do next."

"They aren't coming home for break," Charlie announced, still pacing, "Haven't you been reading the papers?"

"No," I grumbled, "I don't read the Prophet. They're a bunch of fucking arseholes and I've been boycotting them since I was old enough to read."

Charlie groaned again, bellowing, "The Triwizard Tournament is at Hogwarts! The first task is tomorrow."

"Delightful," I chirped, a little peeved by the seemingly unrelated announcement, "What's that got to do with the twins not coming home for break?"

"The school is having a Yule Ball," He explained, voice clipped and barely restrained, "It's traditional. Everyone's staying for it."

"Oh," I mumbled, a little disappointed. The extent of my plan for the future had been just to hide until the twins came home. I was going to jump out of their closet and surprise them in the middle of the night. I hadn't decided what mask to wear yet, but it was between Nixon and Michael Myers...

Is that weird?

It is, isn't it? It's really, really weird...

"And what do you mean 'pretend I never saw you'?" Charlie demanded somewhat crossly, "Haven't you come back for good? Don't you want to return to school?"

"NO!!" I shrieked, instantly panicked, toppling my chair as I jumped up and away from the stocky man, "No, I won't go back there!! You can't make me go back there!!"

"Stella," Charlie soothed, taking a few cautious steps towards me with his thick arms held up in a gesture of submission, "Calm down. I'm not saying you have to go. I just thought you would. Relax. It's alright."

I didn't even realize I'd begun to cry until after I let him pull me into a strong, comforting hug, until after I buried my face against his ratty cotton t-shirt and felt it soaking through with tears.

xxXxx

We didn't pretend he hadn't seen me and that sort of blew. No amount of begging, screaming, or perfectly calm, rational arguments managed to persuade the redhead. He made me sit there with him in the kitchen until his mother came home about an hour later.

The reunion was not altogether unpleasant. There was much crying. She made macaroni for lunch and forced me to eat three massive helpings.

And then I had to start explaining myself.

I didn't reveal too much, just like I said before that I'd been in Africa and then hiding in the twins' room.

That's when I found out about the warrant for my arrest.

Seems like I was the prime suspect in the murder of Claire Marie Zevach.

And with good reason, seeing as how I was the one who killed her.

I calmly confessed this fact. Mrs. Weasley started crying again and Charlie's face turned stony as he stared at anything that wasn't me.

I told them that it had been an accident, but couldn't share them details. I just couldn't... the only way I was able to live with myself was by pretending that none of it had happened most of the time. Saying the whole story out loud would've shattered the fragile illusion I'd made for myself, would've made what Claire did to me and what I did to her real again. And I couldn't do that.

Mr. Weasley arranged for me to turn myself over to the Ministry the following morning. It wasn't so bad. Mrs. Weasley made a really yummy turkey dinner and I got to sleep in Fred's bed one last night before Tonks showed up to take me into custody, only restraining herself from crying and tackling me to the floor because it would not have been at all professional. She had to settle for a brief but loving hug and a whisper of her full support.

I was pretty glad to see her, too. All my previous anger at the young metamorphamagus seemed to have dried up during our prolonged separation. Sure, I was still ticked at both her and Remus for lying to me about my dad, but he'd been proven innocent to both of them. And I'd missed both of them.

After leaving the Burrow, with a second helping of the eggs from breakfast wrapped up neatly on a paper plate, everything happened in fast motion.

I was booked and officially charge with murder. My trial was scheduled for the early afternoon and I spent a few hours in a holding cell in the building. Tonks sat with me and held my hand while I talked with my lawyer. He was a nice old man named Mr. Besnick and he explained the procedures to me very kindly and patiently.

After only a few hours, I was led into a large dungeon type room. It was round and made out of old stones and a group of officials was seated on high tiers all around me, conversing in low, disapproving voices. I caught a few snatches of dialogue and it didn't look particularly good for me coming in.

I sat down in a little wooden chair in the center of the room and was immediately wrapped in heavy metal chains. Those at my defense, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, Tonks, Auntie Andromeda, Uncle Ted, Uncle Remus, and even Dumbledore himself, along with Mr. Besnick, all gave a loud cry of objection to the treatment.

"It's not as if she's going to jump up and attack you!!" Tonks shouted angrily at the interrogators, "She's a fifteen-year-old girl, for Merlin's sake!! Take the blasted chains off her!!"

"I must agree," Mr. Besnick stated, frowning quite unhappily, "Restraints are highly unnecessary! Miss Black has assured me that the death of Miss Zevach was entirely accidental!"

"I don't mind," I piped up quietly, squirming to get comfortable under the weight of all that metal, "If it gets this over with as quickly as possible, I don't mind."

"There you have it," Fudge announced haughtily, "Now, let's get on with the proceedings. Stella Eris Black, you are charged with the crime of murder in the death of Claire Marie Zevach. How do you plead?"

I thought about it for a long moment before remembering what Mr. Besnick had told me to say. "Oh," I stated, "Oh, um, I plead not guilty."

"Very well," Fudge drawled, seeming quite anxious to be able to just sentence me to life in prison already. If he couldn't get my dad, I was the next best thing. And, besides, we Blacks were obviously a bad bunch. It would be best to be rid of as many of us as possible. "This committee has already reviewed the evidence available to it," He coldly announced, "Do you have anything more to add in your own defense?"

"Yes," I answered very quietly, unable to look anyone in the eye because I knew that there was only one thing I could do to stay out of prison, "Yes, I would like to offer my memory of that night so the court can... can see what happened and why it wasn't my fault."

Fudge nodded, snapping his fingers at a weedy little clerk... who I was horrified to notice was actually Percy Weasley, "Very well. A pensieve will be provided and a member of the committee will perform the memory extraction spell. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," I said, stunned at seeing Percy on the side of the prosecution, "But I would like for my family and friends and lawyer to please leave the room while the memory is being shown."

"Stella," Remus stated lowly, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder, "We want to be here for you."

Staring up at him, I felt my eyes fill with tears. After everything, he still just wanted to be there for me. They all did. And I didn't deserve that. I was an awful person.

"I know," I answered, gaze falling once more, "I know you do, and I appreciate it, but I-I don't want you to see."

They all looked like they wanted to argue but not one did and allowed themselves to be led out while the pensieve was being set up and rigged to project my memory onto a large, blank section of the wall.

"Percy too, please," I requested quietly, not wanting him to see either.

"Who, Weatherby?" Fudge grumbled, eyeing Percy with distaste, "He is a representative of this court and he's taking my notes. He stays."

"Please," I whispered, unable to look up from my feet, three seconds from bursting in to tears, "Percy's... he's my friend. I don't want him to see."

"He _stays_," Fudge growled angrily, "And if you attempt to delay the proceedings any further, the interrogators and I will simply decide the case without your evidence."

On some level, I knew that he couldn't do that. I knew it would be highly illegal and, had I not kicked Mr. Besnick out, he would have torn Fudge a new arsehole for trying to intimidate me like that.

But I was all alone, and so scared, and I didn't want to go to jail. Snifling pitifully, still unable to look up, I whispered, "Fine."

Soon it was just the interrogators, Percy, and me. Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, came down to extract my memory and insert it into the pensieve projector.

_"Claire, stop it! Claire! Stop! Get off me! Let go!"_

_"It's ok, baby. No one can keep us apart now. We'll be together."_

I couldn't watch while it was being played and closed my eyes and cried the whole way through.

I was cleared of all charges.

xxXxx

The trial was over before lunch, before the first task was set to take place at Hogwarts, and I somehow managed to let Charlie talk me into going.

"It's not like I'm trying to make you move back into the dorms and start lessons," He argued brightly as he dragged me along with one thick arm looped around my shoulders, "Just come watch. It'll be good for you to have something to do until you can actually have a sit down with everyone later tonight. No one will even recognize you since you look so bloody healthy. And, besides, don't you want to see the twins?"

I did want to see them. More than anything. So that was what swung the situation in Charlie's favor.

The crowds made me nervous. Hell, close to a full-fledged panic attack would probably be a more accurate description. I stuck tightly to Charlie's side the entire time we were walking through the throngs of students and other assorted onlookers, praying that no one would recognize me.

"Relax already," Charlie soothed, chuckling lightly as we headed to the area reserved for the dragon keepers, "Merlin, you'd think I was trying to feed you to Norbert."

I didn't respond. He didn't know how bad Hogwarts was for me and I wasn't about to tell him.

"Come on," He said as he steered me to a rather excellent seat right in the front row and handed me a pair of omnioculars, "Sit down and watch and enjoy yourself. It should be quite a show."

"Can't we find Fred and George?" I asked, very aware of how pathetic and whiny I must've sounded.

Charlie shot me a crooked grin, ruffling my short, shaggy hair and stating, "Of course we can, but I've got to get to work so I can't help you do it until after. You're welcome to go on your own-"

"No, no," I quickly cut him off, turning to scan the crowd for them, "That's ok. I'll wait for you to come with me." I was utterly terrified of the Hogwarts student body and I _did not_ want to be alone with them. In the dragon keeper section, I was surrounded only by friends and employees of Charlie and they'd been given instructions to watch after me. If I left the safe haven they provided... well, anything could have happened. And I didn't want things to be exactly the same as I remembered them.

The task was first underway. Cedric Diggory was first, facing a Swedish Short-Snout. It was an immense creature, silvery-blue with a squashed face that sort of reminded me of Hermione's cat. My heart was in my throat the entire time I watched. He was one of the few people who actually bothered to be nice to me while I was at Hogwarts and I guess I had a bit of a soft spot for him because of it. I cheered wildly.

Fleur Delacour and Victor Krum, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions fought a Welsh Green and a Chinese Fireball, respectively. Both seemed confident and suspiciously well-prepared.

And then there was Harry. I'd been wondering all day about how I was going to react to seeing him again. I... wasn't sure. I didn't know how to feel. He'd been in on torturing me and I hated him for that, but... he was _Harry_. He was my baby god-brother. A part of me hoped that there would be some way for us to move past what happened.

He walked out into the dragon pit, nervous and fidgety.

"BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" I shouted over the dead quiet, "YOU _SUCK_, POTTER!!!!!!"

Huh.

Turned out that moving past what happened was going to take a bit more time than I originally thought.

Harry scowled as he glance my way, scanning the stadium for a face to match the insult. He saw me and a brief moment of wide-eyed, unsure recognition passed over his features.

I gave him the finger.

But that was the extent of our interaction because the Hungarian Horntail chose that moment to attempt to flatten Harry and he had to get back to his little champion thingie. It was quite entertaining to watch him get nearly roasted over and over again as he darted around the massive black dragon on his broom.

And then it was over. Harry actually did well, grabbing the gold egg with the best time and tying for first place with Krum. I wanted to be proud. I really did. However...

"YOU GOT LUCKY THIS TIME, BITCH, BUT JUST WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT TASK!! YOU'RE GOING DOWN!! THAT'S RIGHT, YOU'D BETTER RUN AWAY FROM ME!! NO FANCY FLYING IS GOING TO KEEP ME FROM LIGHTING YOU ON FIRE!!"

I hurled a box of popcorn at the Boy Who Lived and almost hit him as he was limping off towards the tent he'd come from.

"Why are you heckling Harry?" Charlie asked as he came jogging up a few minutes later, sweaty and shirtless and slightly scorched.

I shrugged.

After just staring at me strangely for a bit, mopping his flushed, freckled forehead with his t-shirt, Charlie finally drawled, "Ya... alright then... well, are you ready to find the twins?"

"Yes!" I agreed happily, really, really excited for the first time in quite a long time.

But then I happened to catch sight of myself reflected in one of the shiny surfaces of a serving dish on the table of food that had been provided for the dragon keepers.

"Bloody hell!" I gaped in horror, "Why didn't anyone tell me that my hair looked so wretched?" The black and purple dyes had faded to dull brown and peach, a few inches of my blonde roots showing through. Seeing as how I cut it myself, the style was uneven, spiky and wild.

Frowning, Charlie responded quite petulantly, "Your hair looks fine."

"It does not!" I snarled, jabbing him hard in the chest, "Don't lie to me! It looks bloody awful!" I turned back to the shiny serving dish, staring at my reflection for a few more moments before declaring, "Well, that's it! I can't see the twins like this! We have to go home!"

"What?" Charlie gaped, "You want to go home? The whole point of this was to see the twins and now you're backing out just because you think your hair is bad?"

"Yup," I chirped, looping my arm through his and heading off in the direction of Hogsmeade, "That about covers it."

"But I already wrote the twins saying I had a surprise!" The redhead protested weakly, "What am I supposed to tell them?"

I shrugged, bluntly answering, "The truth: that the surprise is having a bad hair day."

xxXxx

"You're bloody ridiculous," Charlie exclaimed, fidgeting uncomfortably in the salon as he waited for Mrs. Weasley and I to get our hair done, "You do know that, right?"

Beaming quite happily, I responded, "Yes. And thank you for using 'ridiculous' instead of 'insane.' It's a narrow distinction that not many people bother to get correct."

He blushed, squirming in his seat as he looked away. The poor man grabbed a magazine, a Cosmo, and flipped through a few pages. It wasn't long before he turned three shades of red darker and flung the publication hurriedly away.

"Stella, dear," Mrs. Weasley stated, enraptured with a copy of the same issue her son was so frightened by. I read the cover story: "75 Sexy Ways to Thrill a Man: Warning, by #18 He'll Barely Remember His Name."

It was so hard not to laugh at Charlie's predicament.

"Ya, Mrs. W?" I giggled brightly, trying to sit still as the stylist worked on my hair.

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do?" The kind woman questioned, looking like she was thoroughly enjoying my idea of a day at the salon. Turning and giving me a serious look, she continued, "I'm not suggesting you should go back to... that place... but maybe you should reconsider school. If you don't finish your sixth year, they'll snap your wand."

I looked down at my feet, trying desperately to squash down the feelings of terror Hogwarts brought up. "I was going to see about an equivalency test," I stated quietly, "I really don't want to go back."

I could feel her warm expression on me even though I couldn't see her.

"But you're so smart," She pressed gently, "The twins always used to brag about how well you were doing. I thought maybe you'd like to give it another try. You could do so much, go so far."

Shaking my head, I replied, "No. You don't understand what it was like."

She placed a soft hand over mine, making me look up to meet her kind blue eyes. "So tell me," She prodded, sweet and motherly, "I know... I know we didn't listen enough before and I just don't want you to end up feeling so low again."

"Don't make me go back to school and I won't," I responded resolutely, turning away to signify that the conversation was absolutely over.

Because it was.

That was it.

There was no way in hell they were getting me back to Hogwarts.

xxXxx

My hair was once again blonde and neatly cut to fall just below my jaw. I had bangs and a smile on my face and I sat down in the twins' room back at the Burrow to write my two favorite redheads in the world a long letter.

Only... nothing came out.

What was I supposed to say to them? After everything, what was there to say?

When Remus finally arrived two hours later for our meeting, the parchment was still blank and I was frowning.

I heard a hesitant knock at the door, followed shortly after by Remus' graying hair and sheepish smile. "Hello, love," He greeted, approaching me slowly, like he was afraid of how I would react to his presence, "How are you feeling?"

"Not crazy, if that's what you wanted to know," I answered, smirking slightly to let him know it was a joke when his already ashy face paled. Crossing the room in an instant, I tugged the old man into a tight hug, burying my face against his threadbare robes and mumbling, "Missed you, Uncle Remus."

"Missed you, too, little hellion," He sighed, his surprisingly strong arms encircling my slim body and squeezing tightly, "I'm so glad you came home... and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not believing you."

Laying my head on his shoulder, I shrugged, answering flippantly, "It's alright. You weren't exactly alone in that. I'm sorry I ran away. I just... I freaked out a little bit and didn't know what else to do."

"I'm always here," He soothed fiercely, his arms tightening impossibly further, "Never feel like you can't come to me. I love you so much and I would do _anything_ for you. I just want you safe and healthy and happy."

"I know," I responded quietly, sniffling because I'd started crying despite my own best efforts, "And I love you, too."

We just stood there for a few moments, both unwilling to break the long-overdue embrace.

Eventually, we were summoned downstairs, where I was once again tackled by a very happy and overly-emotional metamorphamagus I like to call "cousin." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, not to mention Charlie and Remus watched with fond, vaguely bemused expressions on their faces... until I started freaking out for some odd reason.

I have no idea what happened. One minute, I was laughing happily with Tonks, and the next I just... panicked.

Suddenly, I couldn't tell the difference between Tonks and Claire, between now and that night six months ago.

"STOP!! STOP!! GET OFF ME!!" I shrieked, kicking and punching fiercely as I scrambled away into a corner, as I hugged myself and my gaze flew wildly about the room, as I tried to calm down and remember where I was.

When I finally got a hold of myself, I saw that everyone was looking at me with obvious distress and worry. I didn't know what to say to explain myself, my mouth opening and nothing coherent coming out, "I-I'm sorry... I didn't... I couldn't..."

"It's ok, Stella," Tonks soothed, not letting on to the fact that her head was killing her because of a lucky punch as she knelt down close to me, "It's ok. Are you alright?"

I gave a feeble nod, eyes still wide and frightened.

Smiling, Tonks continued, "That's good then... do you need help getting up?"

"NO!" I shouted instantly, making everyone, including myself, jump. After taking a moment to get the volume of my voice under control, I amended, "No. No, thanks. I'm fine on my own." Carefully getting to my feet, I tried not to be frustrated by my unexpected reaction and, under the gazes of quite a few worried friends and family members, I transferred my shaking body to a plush armchair and drew my knees up to my chin.

After a long pause, everyone else began taking seats as well, began discussing how I would attack the seemingly impossible task of putting my life back together again.

I wasn't entirely sure what had been broken could ever be fixed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There you have it, my darlings. Sorry this one took so long. I got a bit stuck ;P

Anyways, hope you enjoyed it and, as always, reviews are highly appreciated and greatly encouraged!


	13. Friday After Next

Part 13 - Friday After Next

The date was Friday, December 11th, 1994 and over two weeks had passed since I came home. I was living at the Burrow, with Mrs. Weasley fussing over me constantly, with Remus and Tonks going out of their ways to visit as often as possible. I was doing alright but no one was really telling me anything about anything--including where the fuck my dad was and how he'd escaped--and I still hadn't gotten up the courage to write the twins.

That's what I tried to do every day. I would wake up, roll out of Fred's bed and go sit at his desk. I would stare down at a blank sheet of parchment and search my brain for the right words.

Because they couldn't just be any words. I knew how much I must've hurt the twins when I left, how worried and scared they must've been. I had to say sorry and I had to show them that I was getting better. I'd been trying for weeks to find the words.

On the morning of Friday, December 11th, 1994, I solved the problem.

"_Dear __Twinses_," I began, smiling broadly over the genius of my plot, "_For the most amazing surprise of either or your wildly amusing lives, be inside the Shrieking Shack at midnight tonight. Love, you know who._"

I surveyed my words, thought about them for a moment, and then hastily added, "_(Not You-Know-Who, but you do know who)_."

Satisfied, I sent the letter off with Errol and flounced downstairs for breakfast.

xxXxx

I had an appointment with my new shrink that afternoon. I really could have done without him but I promised Remus that I would go. He was still worried and only wanted to make sure I was healthy and safe so I didn't see any particular harm in playing a few games of twenty questions with some suit.

And the second he suggested medicating me, I had permission to knee him in the goodies and storm out. It was my condition for agreeing to see him.

Well, that and his name could under absolutely no circumstances be punny.

Mrs. Weasley accompanied me to the office, fretting and hovering kindly, trying to tug down the hem of my skirt and muttering about how she wished I would have worn something warmer. I was fine though. I had my leather jacket and that was keeping me plenty toasty.

The office was nice, simply decorated in blues and browns. This guy, Dr. Fairchild, was supposed to have a pretty good reputation but that really didn't mean much to me. I mean, the magical psychiatric community wasn't very big. In fact, I'd been warned that, after him, I didn't have many options for mental health professionals left in England before I'd have to start looking in other countries.

But, as I sat there for ten minutes waiting for my appointment to start, I tried and failed to think of a pun for his name and that was good enough to begin with.

"Stella Black?" I heard, looking up to see a stocky older man with graying hair and a push-broom moustache smiling from out of an open doorway.

"Present," I chirped, not bothering to get up until Mrs. Weasley dragged me up. She and my new shrink shared introductions and pleasantries for a few moments before I found myself being escorted inside an office that had the same color scheme as the waiting room.

I plopped down in one of two big, squishy arm chairs placed around a low coffee table in the center of the room, folding my arms across my chest and watching as the good doctor poured himself a cup of tea.

"How are you today, Stella?" He asked pleasantly, smiling over his shoulder, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thanks," I responded curtly, "Been sober for seven months now."

He chuckled beneath his breath, declaring, "Well, I was thinking more along the lines of some tea or cocoa but that certainly is nice to hear."

I shrugged, uncrossing and crossing my legs as he took his seat. "Just thought we could get right to it," I told him, "You're supposed to make sure I'm not completely bonkers anymore so that everyone will stop worrying. The quicker I can convince you, the quicker I can be done with all this head shrinking nonsense."

Dr. Fairchild hummed quietly and sipped his tea. "I understand you didn't really get along with your previous doctors," He remarked, setting the cup down on the table and picking up a clipboard. He read it for a few moments before asking, "Can you tell me why that was?"

"Because the first one was too ridiculous to take seriously," I laughed, "I mean, honestly, a four-foot-something shrink named Dink? What in the hell was she thinking when she made that career choice?"

Fairchild cracked a slightly reluctant smile.

Continuing on, I growled, "And that fuck Shokter, he was just a sadist. Did you know he left me tied to a bed for like two weeks?"

"Yes," Fairchild replied gravely, "I have detailed records of your treatment. Dr. Shokter has some... outdated theories about patient care. I'm afraid he and I have very different opinions about what is helpful and what is harmful in working towards recovery."

"Well, that makes you my favorite so far," I joked, brushing a short shock of blonde out of my eyes. We sat in tense silence for a few moments before I finally asked, "So what's the deal? How many times do I have to show up here and act sane before you'll sign off on me?"

Smiling softly, Fairchild responded, "I'm afraid that's not how this works. The only person who can truly decide whether or not you're healthy is you."

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief, questioning, "You're saying that, if I tell you I'm tip-top, then you'll just let me go?"

"No one's forcing you to be here," He stated, pausing briefly when I snorted in disbelief, "However, if you can honestly tell me you are healthy, that you have absolutely no issues you would like to resolve here with me, then, yes, I will not expect you back. Can you say that about yourself, Stella?"

Shrugging, I chirped, "No, not really, but, in all fairness, I wasn't completely right even before this whole mess started and I always seemed to manage somehow..." I paused for a few moments, looking at the clipboard and the thick stack of papers attached to it. Jutting my chin forward, I asked, "So that's my file?"

The doctor nodded.

"You read it?" I pressed, craning my neck in an attempt to get another look. I'd seen it when the girls and I broke into Dr. Dick's office back at the asylum, but that was before I went all vegetable and there had undoubtedly been some new additions.

Again, the doctor nodded.

"Hmm," I hummed thoughtfully, "In your professional opinion, am I as fucked up as everyone seems to think?"

"No, Stella," Fairchild responded kindly, "I admit that your history does give me some cause for concern but, right now, talking to you I can see you've already made great progress on your own and that proves strength, resilience, and will. Seven months of self-imposed sobriety is one of the most positive things you could have told me about yourself."

I gave a humble shrug, blushing a bit against my own resilient will.

"At the same time," He went on, "I do have some concerns, especially regarding your tendency to slip into self-destructive behaviors when you get upset or depressed. One of the main goals I would set for you is to make an effort towards finding a more positive outlet for your negative feelings. Talking with me is one way to do that, or with a someone else you trust. I know you resent having to come to these sessions, but, really, they're a great asset. You can tell me anything, things you would never admit otherwise for fear of being judged or ostracized. I only want to help you feel good about yourself and your life, and nothing you say in pursuit of that will ever leave this room."

I had to admit that he definitely gave a far better welcoming speech than any of my doctors so far. And he did have some good points. Talks with shrinks are privileged communications; I could finally get everyting out and off my chest and none of it could hurt me. None of it could hurt the people I loved.

"Alright, Doc," I declared, having decided to give this therapy thing one last shot, "Where should I start?"

xxXxx

It felt good, you know? Finally getting things off my chest without having to worry about what anyone would think of me. I loved my family and the few friends I had but... telling them about the sex and the drinking and... Claire... I just didn't want them to look at me and only see those things, see my mistakes and my traumas.

After just one session with Dr. Fairchild, I felt... better... I was going to go back again. We had decided that twice a week appointments would be a good start and I could add or subtract to them whenever I felt the need.

Whenever _I_ felt the need. Being in control suddenly made the idea of having to see a shrink a lot more bearable.

I went back to the Burrow in a good mood, chatted happily through dinner. Remus and Tonks came over; both had their spirits lifted by my progress, even if it was just agreeing to make a serious effort in therapy. They were happy. I was happy.

I waited until Mr. and Mrs. W. went to bed and snuck out of the house. I flew to London and flooed from the Leaky Cauldron to Hogsmeade. I was an hour early but I still went straight for the Shrieking Shack to wait for the twins.

They were already there waiting for me.

"STELLA!!" I heard a pair of deep voices cry out just seconds before I was tackled roughly to the floor, smothered with hugs and kisses as the twins babbled enthusiastically.

"One at a time, boys, one at a time," I laughed, unable to make out any sort of meaning in their jumbled words. It didn't really matter because I had them back.

"We were so worried about you," Fred finally breathed, face buried against my neck and burly body wrapped entirely around mine. George was casually brushing his hands against my sides, trying to gauge if I'd been eating regularly by how many ribs he could count. "Gave us quite a scare, Stel," he remarked quietly, voice heavily laden with emotion.

"I know," I told them, close to tears because I was happy but knew that I had hurt my best friends and that _was not_ ok. "I'm sorry," I told them, sniffling and squeezing both brawny redheads tight, "I-I was really messed up. I didn't mean to make you guys have to be afraid for me but I'm a lot better now."

"You look it," George reported, sharing one of those _Significant Glances_ with his brother over my shoulder before turning a blinding smile at me, "We're just glad to have you back, love."

"So glad," Fred agreed, still not bothering to pick his face up out of my neck . I could feel wetness against my skin and his arms tightened by the second until I could barely breathe, "But you know you're going to have to tell us everything now, right? What was wrong, where you went, what you've been doing..."

I sighed heavily, toying with the fringe at the nape of his neck. "I know," I answered, "I-I'll try... I'll tell you as much as I can."

"And don't ever leave us again?" He begged, finally looking up. His blue eyes were wide and watery and... more beautiful than I remembered. They took my breath away and I answered without thinking, swearing, "Never."

xxXxx

We talked all night and well into the next morning without even realizing. I didn't tell them everything but I told them most of it, why I drank the sleeping potions, why I went all catatonic. I told them how Claire and I broke out of the nuthouse and that she'd died on accident. It was my fault but it was an accident and that was all they needed to hear. They believed me completely.

I told them about my journey through Africa, about... getting myself together. I told them about coming home to the Burrow, hiding out, and how Charlie found me. I told them that I'd been back for awhile, that I'd been at the first task but was too much of a chicken to seek out my favorite twins in the world.

"Should've known better than to be scared of little old us," George giggled, toying with my toes as Fred hugged me against his chest. We'd made a small nest out of shredded pillows and blankets and curled up there for my story.

"Really," Fred mouthed against my ear, "Don't care what your hair looks like or if you're crazier than a Quibbler subscriber. Just want our Stella."

My eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry," I sniffled, "I really, really am. I-I- messed up big... and I'm going to find some way to make it up to you someday. I swear I will."

They both laughed, George tickling the bottom of my foot and making me giggle and squirm. "Just don't leave us again and we'll call it even," He beamed. Fred gave a resolute nod, hugging me tighter. He'd been a bit quite, seeming more than content to simply cuddle me to death and occasionally grunt half sentences agreeing with whatever his brother was saying.

Smiling at them both, I replied, "I think I can manage that."

"So," George began impishly, "You free to be my date for the Yule Ball?"

"What?" Fred and I both squeaked at once.

Giving us both a strange look, George continued, "I need a date for the Yule Ball. And since you're my _favorite_ non-related female member of the opposite sex, you're just perfect to fill the position." He pouted sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes and cooing, "Please?"

It was harder than hell to resist that look. "I dunno," I told him seriously, "I... I don't think I can go back to Hogwarts."

"It'll be better," He announced, "The day after you... everyone found out that it was really Neville who let your dad into the Tower. He wrote down the password for himself and then lost it. He got a howler from his grandmother in the Great Hall, and a lot of people felt really horrible for how they'd jumped to conclusions and treated you because of it. We got a lot of apologies that were meant for you."

"Doesn't change anything," I muttered sadly, "They still... how can I be around people who have done and said what they have to me? It just doesn't seem right."

"Think about it, love," George urged, offering a bright smile, "You know we won't let anyone hurt you. And, besides, you don't want me to be a dateless wonder along with Ron and Harry, do you?"

I looked over my shoulder at Fred, raising a speculative eyebrow. He blushed hotly.

"Freddiekins asked Angelina the other day," George offered in way of explanation, seeming to be thoroughly enjoying teasing his brother.

"Wouldn't have if I knew you were coming back," He told me, burying his pouting face against my neck again, "Want you more."

My prescription for ensuring the mental health of everyone on earth is just that they all hear those words, spoken with sincerity and love, at regular intervals. I filled up with so many warm fuzzies that I thought I was going to burst.

"Well, you can't flake on Angelina," I scolded, snuggling into his arms, "And... I guess I can't let Georgie go unsupervised. Merlin knows what kind of trouble he might get into."

The twin in question flashed me a wide smile. "Awesome," He chirped, "I'm so going to win the hottest date award."

I laughed and that felt too good to describe.

xxXxx

I didn't leave the twins until late in the day. Even then, I didn't want to but I'd stayed longer than I meant to and I knew that Mrs. Weasley must've been going out of her mind. We said our heartfelt goodbyes and I promised to come visit again in a few days.

By the time I got back to the Burrow, Remus, Tonks, and three aurors who owed favors to my cousin were also there and they were going nuts trying to find me. When he saw me coming up the walk, Remus bolted to meet me.

"Stella," He growled, immediately seizing me tight into his arms, "Where in the hell have you been?"

"I'm sorry," I answered, hugging him back, "I didn't mean to stay out so long. I-I thought I'd be back before anyone noticed."

"You can't just disappear like that," He murmured, shaking from some combination of anger and relief that came through clearly in his soothing tenor voice, "We've been worried sick. We didn't know where you were of if you... if you were alright."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, guilt tripping like whoa and unable to comprehend how I'd ended up with and managed to keep all these wonderful people who cared so much for me despite everything I'd done. "I-I- went to Hogsmeade," I admitted quietly, "I had to see the twins."

Remus sighed, still hugging me like he was never going to let go as Tonks stood just a few feet away waiting anxiously for her turn. "Please," He said," Don't run off again without telling someone where you're going."

"Ok," I promised solemnly.

xxXxx

The next week or so was uneventful. I still wasn't getting a full story about my dad from anyone and that was frustrating but to be expected. I mean, no one really told me anything even before I went mental.

I kept sessions with Dr. Fairchild and... he was kind of nice to talk to... like a benevolent grandparent. He didn't talk down to me or treat me like a whack job. He had my best interests at heart but, at the same time, he didn't let me get away with shit. He wanted his questions answered because I needed to talk about what I'd gone through and that was that. No arguing.

At the same time, I was in control concerning what topics we actually ventured towards each day. If there were subjects I just weren't ready for yet--Oliver, Claire, my mother, my father, my baby sister--I stayed away from them. He let me bide my time around the tougher stuff with the understanding that when I brought them up they would be completely disclosed. It was a system I could definitely live with.

I went a few times a week to see the twins, too, and sometimes just having them back made me ache with regret for all those months we spent apart. They were truly my best friends and I never wanted to be without them again. I knew they loved me for just me, always ready with kisses and hugs and jokes.

The only bad thing about coming back was realizing that the bastards were once again taller than me, standing at six feet a piece as opposed to my five-ten. Damnit. I really liked being the tallest.

An afternoon the week before the Yule Ball, I got out of a Friday session with Dr. Fairchild and met Tonks and Mrs. Weasley for lunch and shopping in Diagon Alley. I still had plans to be George's date for the ball, as much as I had wavered about it since agreeing--as sort of strange and twitchy Fred acted every time it was brought up--and I needed some dress robes.

After our leisurely lunch, I was feeling pretty upbeat, happy and content. And I got to go shopping. The street was crowded with the Christmas rush but not too bad considering the season. Madame Malkin was finishing up with a customer so we browsed the selections while we waited.

"Oh, Stella!" Tonks called from the other end of the small shop as she lifted up a hangar for my inspection, "You should try this one on!"

"I dunno," I answered as I skeptically eyed her choice, a rather repulsive fuchsia and green number, "It'd kind of be like wearing an acid trip. And I'd feel bad if any epileptics in attendance happened to glance my way and start seizing."

She pouted quite theatrically as Mrs. W giggled into her hand.

Another ten minutes or so of browsing the racks revealed nothing I was really wild about. Dress robes have always seemed too bland to me. Most places only offer painfully traditional looks and I'm anything but traditional.

"Hello, dears," Madame Malkin finally greeted us, squat and gray haired and bundled in sleek, classy black velvet, "What can I do for you today?" She smiled at me in particular, adding, "Needing some dress robes for a holiday party, I'll wager?"

"Yes," I answered brightly, "But I don't really like wearing dress robes. Do you have anything with a little more... modern style to it?"

The little witch grinned. "Ah," She chirped, turning and bustling off towards the back, "I think I've got just the thing for you, young lady. It's a new line I've been working on for girls with your taste. I do seem to be getting a lot of them these days."

She came back with a delicate armful of pure snow-white silk. "Try it on, my dear," The woman beamed, "I think you'll be perfect for each other."

I went back into the changing room and quickly slipped into the garment. It was shimmery and short, just tight enough to be astoundingly sexy and just loose enough to be comfortable. It had a deep V neckline that reached nearly to my navel and was repeated again in the back. The shoulders just barely perched on mine, held together in the front and back by several delicate strands of fine silver chain. In the front, the chains detached on the right side with an ornate silver clasp in the shape of a small rose. The sleeves were long and clingy, tapering at the ends to points at the backs of my hands with single silver chains on each side that turned into rings for my middle fingers in order to hold them in place. It showed a lot of leg but that was ok because I had more than enough to spare. Most of my five feet, ten inches was pure leg. Overall, the robe fit like it was made for me and was just plain perfect.

"Perfect," Madame Malkin agreed dreamily when I stepped out of the dressing room. She was holding a pair of death-defying silver stilettos with the same chains from the dress across the toes and at the ankle. "Here, dear," She said, offering them out, "These go with it. Let's see everything all together."

I put them on, happily doing a bit of a catwalk strut in the main part of the store to the sounds of cheers and wolf whistles from Mrs. W and Tonks, respectively. "I just knew it," Madame Malkin beamed, "The cut is absolutely elegant on you and elven silk always makes blondes seem to shine."

"Oh, wow," I replied, looking forlornly into the mirror as I smoothed the expensive and heavenly soft material down my flat stomach, "I can't possibly afford this." It was depressing but true. My budget was respectable but by no means extravagant and the wonderful little dress robe was nowhere in it. Elven silk is rare and fairly expensive.

The old witch regarded me carefully for a few moments, seeming to be thinking very hard. Then she held up a finger and trotted off towards the back again, calling over her shoulder, "Wait one moment, dear. I'll see what I can do for you."

I smiled as she left, assuming she was off to get me something similar but cheaper and thinking what a nice lady she was. I turned back to regard myself in the full length mirror, enjoying the real thing while I still had it on.

I heard the bell on the shop door ring as someone walked in but didn't pay it much attention until that person hesitantly asked, "Stella?"

I turned and my expression hardened. "Oliver," I greeted curtly, turning my back on him and his slack-jawed face. It took a lot of effort because I was still kind of terrified of him but I couldn't let him see how much he'd gotten to me.

"I... uh... hi..." He gaped dumbly as I discreetly watched him through the mirror. He was much the same as I remembered him: handsome, brawny and dark-haired, cocky and led entirely by his dick. "You... you look good, Stel," He finally stated after I'd ignored him for a solid five minutes.

"I know," I chirped dismissively, trying to get my point across that I really had no desire to ever talk to him for the remainder of my life and his.

This was the guy who'd almost raped me, who spread rumors about me that were so horrible they led me towards a complete breakdown. Where the fuck did he get off talking to me like we were old friends?

"So..." He began, blatantly staring at my arse, not even acknowledging the fact that Mrs. W and Tonks were still in the room and waiting for some kind of introduction or indication that they should get rid of the boy, "I haven't seen you in awhile. How've you been?"

Did he not remember me holding a knife to his jugular and swearing I'd kill him if he ever touched me again?

"Peachy," I quipped, glaring daggers at him through the mirror.

A long stretch of awkward silence ensued. Oliver continued to stare at my arse, the bloody typical idiot, and the second he tried to get anywhere near me I was going to make good on my promise and slit his fucking throat.

Madame Malkin emerged from the back room with a big smile on her face. "I have a proposition for you, my dear," She told me, making a few minor tugs on the outfit and standing back to give her work a pleased nod, "I'm going to be shooting some catalogues and advertisements for this line of robes. You can have the one you're wearing if you model for me. I just talked to my photographer and he thinks you'll be exactly what we need."

I didn't quite know what to say, speechlessly looking to Tonks and Mrs. W for some input.

"I think it's a great idea," Tonks piped happily, her hair a sunny shade of orange and her hands on her hips in a tomboyish stance, "Everyone's always said what a bombshell you are."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, agreeing, "You are a lovely young woman and this sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you. If nothing else, it will give you a little something to do while you're not in school."

That was enough of an endorsement for me. Grinning excitedly, I turned back to Madame Malkin and stated, "I'm in."

"Oh, splendid!" The little witch bubbled sweetly, fussing over me a bit more, "Will you be free after Christmas to be fitted for some other outfits and meet the photographer?"

"Of course," I smiled, "Any day you need me. Thank you so much, Madame Malkin!"

"Think nothing of it, dear," She answered, giving my cheek a loving pat, "I does my heart good to see something I've made worn so beautifully."

I blushed, turning back to the mirror again in order to admire my gorgeous new robe.

"Can I help you, young man?" The witch asked pleasantly as she finally noticed Oliver's presence. Her expression darkened somewhat when she saw that he was _still_ staring at my arse.

"Oh, um, ya," Oliver said, a little embarrassed to have been caught in the act--though it didn't stop him, shameless prat--"I just, um, I need some robes for a quidditch league Christmas party. I play keeper for Puddlemere United."

I was fairly sure the last part was said purely for my benefit, to try to impress me. I let him see my animated eye roll.

"Of course," Madame Malkin stated politely, "I can be with you in just one moment." She turned back to me, smiling a big, genuine smile as she instructed, "Why don't you go change back and I'll wrap the robe up for you."

I nodded and moved off towards the dressing rooms once more, ecstatic and no longer having to make that much of an effort in order to not let Oliver get to me. He was a total moron and... I was just better than him. I didn't have to bother even thinking about the boy.

Madame Malkin wrapped my robe and shoes, even letting me borrow a heavy white wool travelling cloak so that I wouldn't get cold, and I made sure to leave her my name and contact information so she could get in touch with me for the fitting and everything. After that, it was back to the Burrow, where I raced straight to the twins' room and put my robe back on so that I could admire it some more. I owled Fred and George, telling them all about my shopping experience--leaving out the Oliver bit because, really, he wasn't even worth a mention--and about my modeling job.

It had just been an all around good day.

The next afternoon, I went to visit Remus at his job, a dull little office gig. It was by no means stimulating and his immense intellectual talents were going to waste but he was content. And it was certainly better than some of the other employment he'd been forced to endure throughout the years because of the stigma surrounding his condition. People really were such bastards.

Another week passed without much fanfare. I spent Christmas Eve at the Burrow, having a cozy, absolutely scrumptious dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Auntie Andromeda and Uncle Ted, Uncle Remus, Tonks, and Bill, who'd popped in to surprise his parents.

He was a little upset that I'd gone to Egypt and not come to visit him but I managed to buy the man's forgiveness with promises that I would, once again, model my stunning dress robes. I'm sure everyone else was getting a bit tired of me showing off but they were just so glad that I was happy that they didn't mind humoring me for a bit longer.

Christmas morning meant presents. I got some more clothes and books and tons of candy. Mrs. Weasley made me my own jumper, a cuddly slate blue one that matched my eyes. Fred and George sent me a letter saying that I wouldn't get their presents until I showed up at Hogwarts later in the day to get ready for the Yule Ball, a strange coincidence since I'd owled them an almost identical letter.

The biggest surprise of the morning was that Harry sent me a gift. I didn't bother to get him anything that year, still quite pissed at him for all he'd done and said to me, but my heart did soften a bit when I saw that he'd actually gotten me something. The package was about the size and shape of an unusually large brick, wrapped in simple blue paper and bearing a small card that read, "_Stella, I know I don't deserve it but I hope you can forgive me someday. The password is 'of course it flies. What the bloody hell would I do with a motorbike that doesn't fly?' All other instructions and important material are inside. Hope you like it. Love, Harry_."

My interest peaked, I carefully unwrapped the present and found that it was a shining silver box with a delicate starburst etched into the top. At the center of the crossed lines that made the star, was a pale little blue gem. It was a very pretty gift but I couldn't see any way to get it open. It seemed to just be a solid block of metal.

I read Harry's letter again as I turned the box over in my hands, finally addressing the thing as I stated, "Of course it flies. What the bloody hell would I do with a motorbike that doesn't fly?"

With a muffled click, the top half split directly down the middle and the two pieces opened outwards to reveal a sectioned interior lined with blue velvet. It was a jewelry box.

I smiled, picking up a folded scrap of paper from the deepest well and opening it to read what turned out to be instructions. I read them through and set it so that it would only open to my voice. I explored the many hidden compartments that opened from all sides and corners of the box, setting different passwords to open each one. It wasn't until I got to the last that I discovered something more.

It was the toughest compartment to find, requiring the box to be opened first from the top, then the right and left sides folded out individually from the inside, then the flat metal surface that was revealed to be slid back with another password--stuffed purple puppy. It revealed another blue satin lined compartment, but this had a thick ornate silver disc about the circumference of a softball nestled into its own little spot. Also there was a ragged scrap of parchment. The handwriting was not Harry's and tears sprang into my eyes when I recognized it in an instant.

The handwriting was my daddy's.

"_I miss you, my beautiful girl_," It read, crooked and blotchy, "_Give me a call." The bottom was signed with a carefully drawn paw print surrounded by a heart_.

My hands shaking, I reverently picked the disc up out of the bottom of the box and opened the delicate cover to reveal my own face in a flawless mirror. I grinned, almost in tears, because I remembered the stories Uncle Remus had told me about my daddy and James and the two-way mirrors they used to talk to each other when they were in different detentions.

"I'll be upstairs!!" I shrieked to the rest of the inhabitants of the living room, ignoring the quizzical stares as I cradled the compact against my chest and raced for the privacy of the twins' room.

Once there, I shut the door and settled cross-legged on Fred's bed, taking a deep breath before I looked down into the mirror and whispered, "Daddy?"

It took a few moments, long, tense moments, but, finally, his face appeared, older, gaunt and heavily beard but... it was _him_.

"_Merlin_," He gasped, gray eyes going misty as he stared up at me, "_You get more gorgeous every time I see you_."

"Daddy," I repeated tearfully, hardly able to believe what I was seeing, "A-Are you ok?"

He grinned so broadly I almost thought his weathered face was going to rip straight down the middle. "_I'm just fine, baby_," He stated happily, "_Merry Christmas_."

"Merry Christmas, Daddy," I answered, sniffling as I drew my finger tips along the edges of the mirror, "I miss you so much. I... where are you? I want to come see you."

Still mesmerized with me but infinitely saddened, the scraggly man in the mirror cooed, "_I know, baby. I want to see you, too. But it's not safe right now. The __Ministry is still searching for me and I won't have you in danger, no matter how much... no matter how much I miss you, I love you more and that means I have to keep you safe, ok?_"

His voice was deep, a gravelly bass just like I remembered.

I nodded, feeling like I was five again and agreeing with his order not to eat cookies before dinner just because I was such a daddy's girl.

He kept beaming at me, seeming unable to stop, and lovingly remarked, "_You look so much like your mum, baby... I wish she could see you. I know she'd be so proud_."

"Daddy," I cried, breaking down into tears, "I-I'm sorry! I tried to keep them safe! I tried but I-I couldn't-"

"_Hey, hey_," He cut me off, his hand touching the mirror's surface like he desperately wanted to reach through it and touch me, "_Stella, love, that wasn't your fault. None of it was._"

I bit back another sob, weakly arguing, "But you said! You told me to take care of them!"

"_I know you did your very best,_" My daddy soothed, "_You were so little, love. It wasn't fair of me to give you that responsibility and I've never blamed you for any of it, not for a second. You remember that for me, alright?_"

I nodded again, sniffling and swiping at my eyes.

"_Good_," He agreed, smiling at me again and doing a bit of sniffling himself, "_Then, um, how about we just talk, ok? I... I want to know all about my brilliant daughter_."

Laughing, I eagerly replied, "I'd like that... well, I'm fifteen and I went through a growth spurt last summer so I'm five-ten and everyone thinks I'm much older. M-My best friends are Fred and George Weasley. They're really funny and good pranks so I think you'd like them. My favorite color is blue. I speak Greek and French, and some Gaelic and Arabic, and a few African languages. I really like reading and learning but- but not for school. I hate school and I don't want to go back. I... um... oh, I'm going to be a model in a catalogue for Madame Malkin. I'm going to the Yule Ball tonight with my friend George, and- and-"

"_Whoa, love_," My daddy laughed tenderly, "_Take a breath. We've got plenty of time_." He grinned as I gave a shy smile. "_A model, huh_?" He asked proudly, "_I always knew you were going to end up too damn beautiful for your own good_."

My smile widened... and then fell. "Dad," I asked softly, "Why... why have you been writing to Harry and not me? I mean, you had to have, right? Since your present was hidden inside his. And the password, that was something you said once, wasn't it?"

Chuckling, he commented, "_You're just as smart everyone told me, you know that__ I'm sorry, love, but I can't write you for the same reason I can't see you: the Ministry has your mail and probably you under surveillance. They don't suspect Harry of talking to me because I'm supposed to be out to kill him. I've been asking him to pass along messages, but... you were gone and... __he__ says you aren't speaking to him anyways... why not, love? You and Harry always got along so well_."

I snorted, countering, "Why don't you ask him? Anyways, what about when you were at Hogwarts? Why did you only leave me notes instead of talking to me?"

He blushed a bit, cautiously admitting, "_I... at first, I didn't know if you'd remember me... if you hated me... and then I just didn't want you in danger. I heard you saying that you'd want to go with me and I couldn't let you ask because, well, I didn't think I could say no at the time_."

"But how did you hear?" I pouted, "I never saw you."

He gave a crooked smirk, observing, "_No one's really told you anything about what happened, have they?_"

"No," I pouted, "They just said that you'd managed to escape and that you were in hiding. Will you tell me?"

"_Of course_," He answered nervously shoving stringy black hair away from his face, "_Just... um... try not to be too mad, ok?..._"

I _finally_ got the whole story, about three-quarters of the Marauders being illegal animagi and about my dad breaking out of Azkaban because he knew Harry and I were in danger with Peter so close to us. He told me about how Harry realized the truth and helped him escape and I decided right then that saving my daddy's life earned my little godbrother at least a shot at the forgiveness he wanted.

"So, the whole time, you were the dog?" I asked, quite shocked but not mad like he'd feared. He gave a slight, sheepish nod and I chuckled, "That's kind of weird, Dad."

Put at ease by the fact that I wasn't screaming hysterically at him, he replied, "_I had to see you and it was the best I could do._"

"I understand," I told him, smiling into the mirror surface, "Just.. try to forget most of what you saw. I wasn't too well at the time."

"_But you're ok now, right?_" He questioned anxiously, "_I've been worried to death over you. You can't just disappear on everyone like that. If I was in a position of a little more parental authority, I think I'd have to ground you_."

"I know," I said, "I'm sorry. I am doing a lot better. I'm talking to a shrink and, well, not being at Hogwarts does a whole lot of good."

My daddy's face grew dark. "_I peed on a lot of __bookbags__ for you, if that helps_," He declared.

I giggled, "It does."

From outside the locked door, I heard footsteps and low growls echoing up the stairs. "Remus is coming," I announced, "I got him these cute wolf feet slippers for Christmas and they growl with every step... are you in contact with him or anyone else?"

"_Ya_" He said, smirking crookedly, "_But I'm not supposed to be talking to you. They told me to be patient until a safe place can be arranged... so I should probably go. I want you to call me again soon, love. I want to hear all about the ball and everything, alright?_"

"Of course," I replied, pressing a brief kiss to the mirror surface, "I love you, Daddy. Stay safe."

He got all teary eyed, choking on his reply. I would have been content to wait for it but Remus' knock made me jump and I snapped the lid of the compact shut just as he cracked the door. "Stella?" He called, poking his head inside, "Are you alright?"

Hard as I tried to not act suspicious, I couldn't wipe the giant grin off my face. "I'm great," I chirped, happily bouncing off the bed and hugging the compact against my chest, "I see you opened your present. Do you like them?"

Remus chuckled, taking a few more growling steps on fury grey wolf feet as he said, "They're wonderful, love, thank you... what's that you've got there?"

"A compact," I answered, showing only the ornately worked outside with its swirling falling star design, "It came in Harry's present. Isn't it pretty?"

"Yes, very," Remus said with a smile, seeming to be happy because it was the first sentence that I'd said with Harry's name in it that didn't end in some sort of curse or threat. "Molly has informed me that her cookies are done," He added, "They smell delicious. You should come and have some before Tonks and Bill demolish the entire batch."

"Ok," I laughed, jogging to his side and linking my arm with his, "Let's go."

xxXxx

I was so over the moon about talking to my dad that I didn't feel even half as bad as I thought I would when I finally arrived at Hogwarts late in the afternoon. With my robes in a neat garment bag and some pajamas for afterwards in my satchel, I went through the Honeydukes' cellar into the secret passage way that leads to the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor corridor. The twins were there waiting.

"Merry Christmas, boys," I greeted happily as they both gave me a hand out of the opening.

"Merry Christmas, love," George beamed, tugging me right into a hug and then holding out a wrapped package. I laughed, bringing out his gift--a pair of slick aviator goggles; weird, I know, but I knew they would be perfect for just that very reason--and swapping it with him for mine. As we walked along towards the Room of Requirement, we both tore into the presents.

In just a few moments, I found myself holding a red leather journal with the image of a burning heart embossed deeply into the front. I flipped through the blank white pages, smiling as I remarked, "It's beautiful."

"Not just beautiful," He replied, hurriedly snapping on his goggles and smiling like a maniac, his tomato red hair sticking out at odd angles, "Useful. See, I've got the other one. You write in yours and it shows up in mine and same for the other way around. So we can keep in touch anywhere, you know?"

Suddenly teary-eyed, I flung my arms around his sweet, lovable neck and squeezed tight, cooing, "Oh, Georgie. I love it. Thank you."

He squeezed me right back, laying a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek as he swooped me off my feet and spun me throughout the corridor. "I'm glad," The boy crowed, "And I love my present, too. How'd you know I've always wanted a pair of these?"

"Because you told me you did," I laughed heartily, "I put shatterproof and defogging charms on them so you can wear them to play quidditch. I can almost guarantee you'll be the only one out there with genuine aviator goggles."

I finally got put down and turned to smile at Fred, beckoning him over. "Your turn," I called, digging into my satchel and wrestling with the oddly shaped item I'd shoved into the magically expanded depths, "I'm afraid I didn't really wrap it since it's a little awkward."

Fred's blue eyes grew wide in his skull. "A _sword_?" He gaped, reaching tentatively when I held out the ornamental hilt.

"A _rapier_," I said with a grin, watching him take it from its long sheath, "Thought it would match that wit of yours."

George snorted loudly.

"I-" Fred began, giving a few experimental slashes and trusts of the slender blade, "I don't know what to say... where did you get this?"

"Flea market," I chuckled nervously, "The only way I can afford Christmas... so what do you think?"

"It's fantastic!" Fred beamed, grinning like... well, like a kid on Christmas morning, "I'm going to have to get one of the suits of armor to teach me to fence! Thanks, Stel!"

"You're welcome," I chirped happily, darting in for a heartfelt hug. Fred and I wrapped our arms around each other and both sighed in contentment.

Those Weasley twins are sneaky buggers and good with their hands, too. I didn't feel Fred at all as he discretely slipped a soft length of blue ribbon around my neck. I only noticed the piece of jewelry when I pulled away and noticed the new weight settled at the hollow of my throat. "Wow," I cooed, pulling on the charm that hung loosely from the choker in order to get a look at it. The little pendant was a perfect, circular token, about the size of a walnut and made of what looked like some sort of flawless ivory intricately carved with what I took a few moments to realize were tiny runes and spell symbols. "It's gorgeous," I cooed, smiling up at Fred.

"For the amount of time the planker spent making it, it had damn well better be," George piped up, attempting to snatch his brother's sword and repeatedly getting his hands slapped away.

I stared back up into Fred's handsome face just in time to watch him blush becomingly. "You _made_ this?" I asked, thoroughly impressed but not quite surprised. Fred always made the gifts he gave me but this one... it must have been so much work.

"Well, ya," He answered softly, keeping eye contact and making me suspiciously weak at the knees with his kind, rumbling voice, "It's, um, a piece of dragon tooth. I had to beg Charlie for a week to get him to send it to me and then I just, um, worked on it a little bit, is all. Shaped it and carved on some protection and good luck spells. And look-" He bent in close, reaching out to close his rough, warm hand around mine around the charm, "-you rub it like this and, if I did it right, you should hear-"

"_Don't worry so much, beautiful_," Fred's voice sang out quietly from the pendant, clear and tender, full of sincerity and warmth, "_You're far too amazing to let yourself be sad. Remember that I love you like crazy and see if it helps_."

I sniffed back tears, struck deeply by just how much thought Fred had given this gift. He was red up to his ears but our eyes stayed locked. I wrapped my free arm around his neck, pulling him in close and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You are incredible," I cried against his shoulder, melting into his hug and radiating body heat, "I love you so much."

I felt him grin as he mouthed a kiss against the crown of my head, replying, "Ditto, Stel."

xxXxx

Despite protests and whining from the twins, I eventually holed myself in the Room of Requirement, which had been morphed into a luxuriant bathroom complete with a lovely tub and fully stocked vanity. There were a few hours before we were expected to make an entrance to the ball but, as I had to keep insisting to the twins, we girls liked to take our time getting ready.

Fred and George kept me company though, sitting on the other side of a tall screen while I soaked in a nice bubble bath and then got dressed. We chatted on about this and that. They made me laugh on purpose while I was putting on my make up so I ended up having to redo it about a million times, the cheeky bastards. I eventually convinced them both to just put on their own robes while they were waiting for me. That kept them busy for about five minutes.

I was ready with about half an hour to spare, doing a full turn in the mirror to admire my robes and do one final check of the glittering silver make up all around my eyes and on my lips. My blonde hair fell to my jaw in a messy shag decorated with a pair of crystal clips to hold it back from my face. "Alright, boys," I called happily, "You ready for me?"

"Been ready for the last hour!" George laughed, "You'd better hurry up or you're going to make Freddie late for Angelina. She'll maim him."

"Merlin forbid," I replied, sweeping out from behind the screen and doing a flourished spin. Grinning at the slack-jawed expressions with which I was met, I laughed, "What do you think?"

Fred stuttered and mumbled, turning beat red as George gave a lecherous smirk. "I think I'm definitely taking home the hottest date award," He chirped happily, toying with the garish purple top hat set on his shaggy head and deftly straightening his second-hand robes of the same color, "Absolutely no contest. And I get to tell everyone you're a model, which will score me major bragging rights."

Still seeming unable to speak, Fred fidgeted in his vivid blue robes. They were several shades darker than his eyes but matched a whole lot better than his brother's ensemble. While both twins looked handsome, Fred had a more... polished air to him. George was a spectacle, able to pull of his lurid color palate only because he carried himself with such utter confidence. Fred just looked damn good.

I grinned, teasing, "Well, the speechlessness of your twins is a good sign on that front."

Fred's jaw snapped shut.

Picking up the heavy white traveling cloak Madame Malkin loaned me up off a stray chair, George gentlemanly held it out, commenting, "You'd better not forget this. As much of a shame it is to ever cover up such a fantastic sight, you'll freeze to death on the walk to the Hall."

"I'm sure they've put up warming charms," I argued pointedly even as I let him drape the heavy material around my shoulders and took the arm he held out.

"Still," He countered, grinning impishly and waggling his ginger eyebrows at me, "We should ease the rest of the school into you. Don't want to cause any massive coronary episodes in the males or explosions due to extreme jealousy from the girls."

I shook my head, laughing at his silliness as I turned towards Fred and called, "Now that you've gotten a look at my coronary episode and explosion inducing ensemble, you'd better go meet Angelina. We'll see you in there, Freddie, and I expect a dance."

"I... uh..." He stuttered, shocked expression quickly morphing into a slightly sad one. Before I could ask what was wrong, he turned around and hastily ran out, declaring, "Ok, bye, see you, have fun!"

"What's eating him?" I questioned lightly as George led us along in the wake of his twin's frantic bid for freedom.

With a smirk, my date replied, "Isn't it obvious?"

"Obviously not," I laughed, jabbing him sharply in the ribs.

He leaned in very close, sharing a conspiratorial smile and whisper, "He's _madly_ in love with you. Has been for years, the poor bastard."

Thinking it was yet another joke, I snorted quite inelegantly. "Sure, Georgie," I told him, rolling my eyes and clinging to his arm, "Whatever you say."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ta-freaking-dah!! Sorry this took so long but hopefully you all liked it. I'll be working on more and, in the meantime, I'd love some feedback :D


	14. Here's Lookin' at Yule, Kid

Part 14 - Here's Lookin' at Yule, Kid

An hour into Hogwarts' Yule Ball, I was having more fun than was probably healthy.

Far from the sensation I'd been dreading, my entrance had gone mostly unnoticed aside from a few speculative whispers as to the identity of the blonde on that Weasley twin's arm. But my cloak came off and I spent the rest of the evening having to beat off horny, drooling teenage boys.

At the same time, _no one_ had yet recognized me!! The boys who approached all assumed that I was one of the Beauxbatons students and I did very little to cure them off that conclusion. It was quite fun. I told people that my name was Jeanne-Marie Beaubier and pretended to not speak English, spending the duration of every dance exercising my extensive French swear vocabulary. I got to use such gems as _tu __pues __tellement__ de la __gueule __que__t'attire__ les __mouches_--your mouth stinks so awful that you attract flies--_je __suis __fier__ de __mon __cul __quand__ je __vois __ta __gueule_--I'm proud of my arse when I see your face--_j'ai __envie__ de __te __vomir __dessus_--I have the desire to vomit on you--and, a personal favorite, _ta__ mere __suce__ des bites en __enfer_--your mother sucks cocks in hell. The real French students within earshot all looked quite scandalized by my profanities.

I changed the story a bit, just to cause some confusion and mayhem, instead claiming to be an English tutor for the Beauxbatons girls. My new name was Louise Mason and the switch afforded me a bit more freedom to screw with my dance partners' heads. I told a few guys that George had simply asked me so sweetly that I couldn't refuse, even if it was generally frowned upon for teachers to fraternize. He was just that damn irresistible.

Next, I was a roadie with the Weird Sisters named Joan Larkin. George was an old friend from primary school and, when I'd run into him as I was helping carry in the band's equipment, I insisted on being his date.

I was also Mary Jane West, a model who the Weasley twins were courting to do ads for their new line of joke products, trying to finesse me into signing a contract. I liked them well enough but they were being pretty adamant about wanting a topless spread and I just wasn't sure about posing nude with Skiving Snackboxes. It seemed a little strange.

The absolute best story was that I was an undercover agent going by the name of Ellen Ripley, using George Weasley in order to get me into the school so that I could look into reports of a narcotics smuggling operation headed by none other than Pomona Sprout. I'd been getting reports for weeks that the old Herbology professor was growing a lot more than mandrakes in those greenhouses and I was just waiting for my chance to slip away to investigate.

By the time I made it back to the table for a drink, I could have just died laughing. Starting crazy rumors and watching the idiots scramble was tons of fun, and also a nice sort of revenge seeing as how their rumors had been a leading factor in my breakdown.

I slid into a seat beside George, my face red from dancing and trying to hold back the hysterical giggles that had been threatening ever since Eddie Carmichael had bravely offered to accompany me on my mission to search the greenhouses.

"Apparently, my twin and I are trying to get you to take your top off for advertising purposes," George declared, looking highly amused as he offered me a much appreciated ice cold butterbeer, "Have I missed something? Because I don't remember doing anything of the sort... not that I'd complain if you felt the need to make that particular contribution to our burgeoning empire. I recall you professing time and again the awesome might of boobs."

I snickered, taking a long pull of my drink before answering, "I've just been having a bit of fun. Nobody recognizes me, Georgie! Not one person! I told them all sorts of crazy stories."

Snorting as he looped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side, the burly redhead replied, "Ah. Well, that might also explain why Lee thinks I can get my date to introduce him to the lead singer of the Weird Sisters. Poor bloke's a bit star-struck."

I leaned my head against his shoulder and took another drink, giggling, "Sorry, old boy. I couldn't seem to help myself."

"No worries," He countered, grinning down at me and making his ginger eyebrows dance beneath the brim of his garish purple top hat, "I said that he'd got it all wrong. You're just my supermodel girlfriend and he shouldn't assume that everyone in show business knows each other. I told him not to bother you because you're trying to relax after a hectic week of swimsuit and underwear shoots."

I nearly choked on laughing so hard, thanking every heavenly entity I could think of that my lovely, low-cut white dress robes were charmed against spills. "You're just as bad as me then," I teased.

"Ya, you've been a horrible influence," He sighed theatrically. Looking down at me again, he mischievously added, "Want to go tell people you're really a man?"

I smacked his dense chest, chuckling, "Only if we can tell them you're really a woman."

"Good point," The boy agreed, making a distasteful face before once again breaking into a grin. "Well," He went on, "In that case, the least you can do is make out with me. Help lend some credibility to the story I've been spreading. People are going to call me a no-good liar if they don't see me getting some tongue action."

"In your _dreams_," I answered, my sides starting to hurt from all the laughing.

"How'd you know about those?" George countered, putting on his best innocent face, the one I could see through in nothing flat.

"I'm in them, pillock," I told him flatly, "I have a front row seat to all your nightly depravities."

He pouted, making me feel like I'd just kicked a sweet little puppy dog.

"I guess you can put your hands on my arse during the next slow song," I conceded, rolling my eyes, "Merlin, the things I do for you."

"That's why you're the best, Stel," He chuckled, bending to press a kiss against my forehead before adding, "Or should I call you Mary Jane? I'm a little confused..."

"That's nothing new," I mocked brightly, tapping his hat down over his eyes, "So far you can either call me Jeanne-Marie, Louise, Joan, Mary Jane, or Ellen."

Not bothering to free his vision, the redhead grinned, commenting, "Somebody's been a busy girl." He gave a thoughtful grin before asking, "Can we make you a porn star next?"

I smirked, replying, "Sure, but I'm just recently retired and out to start my own production company. I'm here tonight because I'm trying to get you and Fred to do a gay gangbang called _Double Your Pleasure, Double __Your__ Fun_. The twin angle is really going to sell big."

Groaning, George complained, "Does it have to be a _gay_ gangbang? Why can't the twin and I service a room full of busty young ladies?"

"Who's going to want to watch that?" I questioned matter-of-factly.

He gave an indignant snort but the remainder of his reply was cut off as a black-haired Slytherin named Adrian Pucey--an arsehole who'd been responsible for pulling up my skirt in a crowded corridor and then physically assaulting me--approached my chair. The rather homely fellow knelt down beside it, smiling his best charming smile as he took my hand and pressed a kiss to the back. Trying not to puke or slap him or both, I heard him coo, "_Bonjour, __ange. __Vous __etes__ belle __comme__ les __etoiles. __Aimeriez-vous__danser?_" (Hello, angel. You are as pretty as the stars. Would you like to dance?)

I gave a sycophantic smile, sweetly replying, "_Essaye cette manoeuvre: Prendre 50-60 pas en arrière. Prendre plusieurs souffles profonds. Sprinter en avant à toute vitesse. Faire un triple saut périlleux en l'air et disparaître dans ton propre cul_." (Try this maneuver: Take 50-60 paces backwards. Take several deep breaths. Sprint forward at full speed. Do a triple summersault through the air and disappear up your own ass.)

His smile fell and the seventh year gaped indignantly, apparently understanding and well as not believing what I'd just said to him. "Excuse me?" He demanded angrily.

"Oh," I laughed, no trace of an accent anywhere in my voice, "You speak English! That's great! My French is crap. I only know a few phrases that one of those Beauxbatons chicks taught me."

He let his mouth open and close a few times, seeming to have been knocked speechless. I was vaguely aware of George sitting beside me snickering discretely into his bottle of butterbeer.

"You're, um," Pucey asked hesitantly, "You're not with Beauxbatons?"

"No way," I replied, giving an airheaded laugh, "I thought you must've been, what with the French and all." I finally retracted my hand from his clammy grip, stating, "My name's Nina. Nina Hartley. And you are?"

"Uh, Adrian Pucey," The boy answered, still a bit shell-shocked as well as very confused, "Do you go to school here?"

"Oh no," I laughing, leaning heavily into George's chest, "I haven't been in school in quite some time. I'm just here for this one and his brother, trying to sign them on for a movie project."

Again, the hapless Slytherin looked quite taken aback, unable to stop himself before he crowed, "_Them?_ You want _them_ to be in a movie? What's it called? _Our Parents Fucked Until They Couldn't Afford Us_?"

I felt George tense beside me, ready to sock the bastard in his uppity head. Of course, I beat him to it, taking advantage of my proximity to deliver a swift kick to Pucey's shriveled little balls. He crumbled but, seeing as how he'd already been kneeling, it wasn't immediately noticeable to anyone else. As the shithead gasped for breath, I leaned in close to his ear and hissed, "Actually, it's called _A Clockwork Orgy_. I've been trying to sign these two hot studs for months to service a room full of busty young ladies and if you fuck it up for me, I will see that you're castrated publically."

The music slowed and I got up from my seat, yanking George with me as I sweetly called, "Come on, you sexy beast. It's time to dance."

He went without much of a fight, hugging me against his side and sparing one last amused glance at Pucey as the jerk choked in pain. "_A Clockwork Orgy_?" He questioned as we made our way to the dance floor.

I grinned widely, letting him lead us into a crowd of swaying couples. Pulling me flush against him, George planted both his large hands firmly on my arse.

"Too bad I didn't ask your one of your brothers to be my date," I declared, resting my hands on his strong shoulders, "I could've said it was called _Good Bill Humping_."

He snorted, smirking even though he commented, "I think you're enjoying yourself a bit too much, love."

"Or _Charlie and the Chocolate __Packtory_," I mused, "Or _Percy Does Piccadilly_..."

There was a brief silence before both of us echoed, "Ew."

We laughed. I hugged George closer and rested my head against his chest, relaxing into his soft purple robes. It was turning out to be a very nice night and if I could just get Fred away from Angelina long enough for a dance, it would be very near perfect.

I glanced in the direction of the pair. They were easy to spot, seeing as how Fred's dress robes were a shade of vivid blue that might as well have been neon for how much it made him stand out. I saw yet again, my redheaded best friend dancing uncomfortably with a tall black girl in pastel pink, who was chattering a mile a minute. Seeming to sense my eyes on him, Fred turned and offered a tight smile, his blue eyes pleading. I returned it brightly, blowing him a kiss before snuggling back into George and amusing myself watching the goings on of the rest of the dance floor.

After a few moments, George bent close to my ear to whisper, "Harry's been staring at us for awhile and I'm not sure it's due entirely to your hotness."

"You think he recognizes me?" I asked quietly, not giving myself away by turning to look, still undecided as to whether or not I even wanted to talk to my little godbrother.

"That'd be the most likely scenario," George replied. He paused a moment before swearing under his breath and stating, "Damnit. My twin has the absolute worst timing."

"Why?" I questioned, not moving from my date's embrace.

"He's giving me the signal," George sighed, sounding quite annoyed, "He wants to see me outside."

I laughed, "You actually have signals? Good lord, you two are such girls."

"Be that as it may," George sniffed, trying to regain some air of manliness, "My twin is in need and I can't not answer his call. Sorry, love. I'll walk you back to the table first, unless you want to find some other lucky bloke to dance with."

"I'd love a dance, Stella," Someone stated cheerfully.

I looked up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash and came face-to-face with none other than Cedric Diggory. He'd gotten _damn_ tall since last I'd seen him, towering over me and George with that boy-next-door smile and those piercing gray eyes. He offered out his hand, adding, "If you wouldn't mind, of course."

I felt George's arms tighten, silently asking if I was ok with this situation. I squeezed him back and gave a wry smile, giving him the go ahead to leave me. Cedric wasn't a threat. He was one of the few people at that damn school that had actually been nice to me. I stepped towards him.

He let his hands fall to rest high on my hips, mine settling on his broad shoulders. "So," The young man started pleasantly as we both watched George walk slowly away, "I hear you're a roadie."

I snickered, countering, "And I hear you're a champion but that's actually true. I've just been having some fun at other people's expense."

"True or not," He said, swaying us in time with the slow instrumentals, "It's good to see you again. You look great... happy."

I smiled. "That's one of the nicest compliments I've gotten all night," I told him honestly, "You really know how to charm a girl. I doubt Cho's anything but head-over-heels for you by now."

His grin got impossibly wider and I realized that he was just as smitten with her. They made a really cute couple. "What have you been up to?" Cedric pressed on, "Any plans to come back to school sometime soon?"

"This and that," I replied casually, "And I don't think I'll be returning for classes. I was way ahead of my grade anyways so I'll probably just take the OWLs and NEWTs when they come up and be done with it."

"Sounds like a good plan," He said, still smiling kindly, "How's Professor Lupin? He's your uncle, right?"

I nodded, stating, "He's well. I think the job he took is complete shit but he seems content enough. What about you? How are you handling all this champion business? You looked fantastic going up against the dragon but it's got to be stressful."

The boy gave a shrug, declaring, "I'm managing. It's Harry you should be worried about. People haven't been making things too easy for him, being the second and all."

I'd heard from the twins all about the abuse Harry was suffering. While I found it kind of hard to sympathize after everything the little shit had done to me, I couldn't just stand back and watch. After all, it was my job to pick on Harry, no one else's. Resisting the urge to turn and find my godbrother in amongst the wallflowers, I asked, "Couldn't you talk to some of them? At least get them to leave him alone if they're not going to be decent?"

"I've tried," Cedric admitted in defeat, "It didn't do too much good but... I'm going to help him any way I can. He really saved my neck on the last task and he didn't have to. I owe him pretty big."

With a smile, I said, "Little brother does have one hell of a hero streak in him."

"Little brother?" The tall Hufflepuff remarked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Oh," I laughed, "Ya. My dad is his godfather so that makes us godsiblings."

"I didn't know that," Cedric stated, real interest coming through his voice.

"Not many people do. I guess they forget after everything that happened," I told him frankly, pausing a beat before I added, "My dad's innocent, by the way."

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into the fringe of his sandy brown hair. "How's that?" He pressed quietly, whispering like it was a huge secret.

"Well," I said, pleased that I'd been given an opportunity to explain instead of just instantly dismissed, "My dad was best friends with James Potter, right? So he was the most obvious choice to be secret keeper. Only he got it into his head that he was _too_ obvious. At the last minute, he convinced them to change to Peter Pettigrew, who no one would suspect. But Pettigrew was already working for the Dark Lord. He gave them up and faked his own death, killing a handful of bystanders and my baby sister in the process. He's still alive and well, missing a finger but otherwise up to his old tricks."

"Wow," Cedric gaped, seeming very interested, "Do you have any proof of this?"

"My mum got photos," I stated, sighing sadly, "Pettigrew meeting with Snape quite a few years after he was supposed to be dead. She hid the negatives and gave me the key just before she was murdered to keep them from getting out. I still haven't been able to find where they are. When I got beat up in Hogsmeade last year, that was Pettigrew trying to get the negatives from me. And then right before my dad was apprehended, he and Remus and Harry had Pettigrew captured, but the little rat bastard managed to get away. I assume he slunk back to the Dark Lord's fold."

Deep in thought, the boy remained quiet for a moment before stating, "That's quite a story. I... but then why was he trying to kill Harry?"

Smiling wrly, I leaned in close and whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Loyalty and Justice are the Hufflepuff credo," The young man answered proudly, "Of course I can keep a secret."

"You don't have to keep this one," I chuckled, "Tell as many people as you like. The more who know the truth, the better. You remember Ron Weasley's pet rat?"

He nodded, stating, "Sure. That thing used to get all over the place. Ugly little blighter."

"Well," I went on, implication lacing my low voice, "Remember how it used to have a finger missing?"

He thought about it for a few seconds before his gray eyes went wide. "No way!" He cried out softly, "Pettigrew was Ron Weasley's rat? That can't be possible!"

"It is if he's an illegal animagus," I declared, "His finger was the only part of him they found after the explosion not because it was all that was left of him but because it was all he left of himself. He cut it off just before, transformed, and slipped into the sewer. He'd been hiding ever since. My dad saw that picture of the Weasley's on the front page of the Prophet last year, when they won that trip to Egypt, and he recognized the rat. He knew that as long as Pettigrew was near me and Harry, we weren't safe. And there was the revenge to think about as well. So he escaped Azkaban and came here to try to kill him. That's why he kept breaking into the Tower, and why he ended up slashing Ron Weasley's bed instead of Harry's. It _wasn't_ a mistake. He was looking for the rat."

"That's incredible," Cedric said, only vaguely skeptical, "It sort of makes sense but... no one's going to believe."

I laughed heartily, commenting, "Welcome to my world."

The sound of someone impatiently clearing their throat directly to our left broke Cedric and I out of our conversation. We turned and saw... Fred wearing George's purple robes...

What the hell?

"'Lo, Ceddy," He stated curtly, glaring daggers at the tall brunette, "If it's not too much trouble, could you be relinquishing my date now?"

"Um, ya," Cedric answered, taking his hands off my hips and taking a step back from me, "I should probably go find Cho anyways. She's bound to be back from the little girls' room by now." He bowed slightly, offering a big smile as he stated, "It's been a pleasure. Give me a heads up next time you're going to be around. I'd love to hear more of what we were talking about."

"Will do," I chirped brightly, linking my arm with Fred's and dragging him away, "Thanks for the dance! And good luck!"

When Fred and I were a few steps away, the music changed back into a fast beat and he whirled me around, fitting my hips against his as he moved us to the rhythm. He had a big, shit-eating grin on his handsome freckled face.

"Care to explain?" I challenged, eyeing him up and down as he moved in his brother's garish purple outfit, top hat and all.

He smirked, replying, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap, _Freddie_," I teased, waiting impatiently for some clarification as to why he and his twin were trying to pull a switch on me, "What do you think you're doing?"

Flashing me a charming smile, he laughed, "I knew I couldn't fool you."

"Then why'd you try?" I asked, slightly exasperated but unable to fight the grin coming over my face.

He sighed, motioning over his shoulder as he stated, "Only thing I could think of."

I looked and saw George--who was in his brother's vivid blue robes--dancing stiffly with Angelina--who seemed completely unaware of the swap.

"I had a bit of trouble getting away once I said I was going to dance with you," Fred stated, hands splayed along my back, "She's kind of jealous, though I don't blame her seeing as how you've been causing quite the fuss, stealing all the girls' dates away from them. Besides, she just _would not_ shut up about quidditch. Nagged me for nearly an hour about eating too many sweets and the state of my calf muscles, saying that having the teams suspended for a year was no excuse to get out of shape and, when she was made captain, she was going to put me on a diet and see to it that I took my responsibilities a little more seriously. Like I've ever taken anything serious in my life!"

"Fred," I cried, smacking him lightly on one purple-clad shoulder, "I can't believe you did that! You're the one who asked her! And what if George makes out with her or something?"

He gave me a strange look, stating, "That doesn't sound like something I'd do. Don't worry, he has strict instructions not to do anything I wouldn't. And it'll only be for an hour or two. It's not fair my twin gets you all to himself."

Giggling, I teased, "Are you sure Angelina's the one with the jealousy issues?"

His face turned a bit pink but his smile stayed firmly in place, handsome and bright. I couldn't help laughing.

"Do me a favor," I instructed, leaning in close to his ear, "Glance over at Harry and check if he's still staring."

Sneakily maneuvering us so that he could get a better view over my shoulder, Fred reported, "He's looking this way. Seems a might confused, although that probably has something to do with the reports that you're an undercover agent investigating a drug-smuggling ring running out of the greenhouses."

I snickered, clinging to Fred's broad shoulders and remarking, "Just wait until you hear about the porno."

He tripped quite clumsily, nearly sending us both to the floor. When the boy finally recovered amidst some giggles from those around us, I was laughing too hard to continue dancing and allowed myself to be pulled away towards the table at which we'd all been seated at the beginning of the evening. Still red in the face, Fred took off George's hat, scooped up my cloak and offered, "Care to take a walk before I go and embarrass myself anymore?"

"Sounds lovely," I laughed, allowing him to drape the cloak around me before offering his arm and leading us outside to the grounds. The night was nice, crisp and clear and cold. Quiet, which was starkly alien after having been in with the loud music and din of chattering voices for the last few hours. I gave a happy sigh, resting my head on Fred's shoulder as we wandered about through the courtyard.

"Having fun?" He chuckled, leaning his head on top of mine as he played with the fingers that were linked through his arm.

"Mmm," I murmured, "Quite. Got to kick Pucey in the balls a bit earlier."

"Wicked," The redhead remarked. We walked along in a comfortable silence, perfectly content to merely be with one another as we explored our way through the brief network of hedges and stone benches. Every once in awhile, we would hear Snape or Filch shouting as he caught a snogging couple and we would snicker and sigh.

At long last, we came to the edge of the courtyard, to one lone bench beneath a bare oak tree. Only two of the colorful fairy lights that had been dispersed throughout the area had made it that far, a red and a blue that together made our little alcove and the snow that surrounded it glow a soft lilac.

We sat down. Fred wrapped a heavy arm around my cloaked shoulders and tucked me against his side. It was... nice. So nice.

"So," He began, sparing me one of those I-solemnly-swear-I-am-up-to-no-good grins he was so infamous for, "Tell me about this porno. Are you the star?"

"Oh no," I snickered, "I'm retired from the business and out to start my own production company. I'm trying to recruit you and your twin to do a gay gangbang called _Double Your Pleasure, Double __Your__ Fun_."

He gaped. "Seriously?"

"Oh yes," I replied, pulling away and fixing him with a very professional look, "The market for studly redheaded twins getting pounded by a truckload of bodybuilders is very high these days. You're in demand, darling."

He continued to gape.

"On that note," I teased, still acting as professional as I could manage, "State your terms, Mr. Weasley. I absolutely _must_ have you."

Shaking himself out of the initial shock, Fred gave a shy smile and reached for my hand. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles, eyes darting to the charmed mood ring he'd given me last Christmas, to its swirling pinks and purples that represented I was feeling happy and loved.

"Well, lady porn mistress," He began, looking sincerely up into my eyes as he fought down a smirk, "I've become hopelessly infatuated with your beauty and wit and skill with a whip. Just tell me you love me and my heart, my arse, and anything else you may desire is yours for the taking."

I threw my head back with theatrically laughter, taunting, "You fool! You would be bought for such simple words?" Looking deep into his blue eyes, I crowed, "If that is your wish, it is what you shall receive! I love you! Now bend over!"

I was so busy laughing over our silly exchange that I didn't notice Fred leaning closer until his lips met mine, a soft, tender brush that rendered me still and speechless. His calloused palm came up to cradle my face. My eyes slid shut in pure, delicious satisfaction as I surrendered to his sweet kiss. It might have been completely unexpected but, Merlin help me, I melted like a sno-cone on a summer day, pressing back experimentally as I let my free hand drift to caress the sensitive underside of his freckled wrist.

My crush seemed to be both alive and thriving.

I unavoidably thought back to when it began, to the start second year. Fred came and found me on the roof of the Astronomy Tower and kissed me under the stars. I was twelve and he was thirteen and we were both so painfully young, innocent.

I wasn't innocent anymore. Far from it, in fact. I'd been through so much since that night and I suddenly couldn't stand the fact that Fred must've been thinking he was kissing that wide-eyed, untarnished second year, not the broken mess I'd allowed her to become.

I pulled back abruptly, thick tears already stinging my eyes as I gazed into Fred's awestruck, reverent expression. It disappeared in an instant, morphing into one of guilt and fear. "I'm sorry," He apologized instantly, dropping his hand from my cheek like I'd burned him, "I-I'm so sorry, Stel. I didn't mean... I thought... I'm sorry."

I started to cry, blubbering, "You didn't do anything. It's- It's my fault."

"What are you talking about?" He questioned, his worry bordering on panic as he drew me closer, "Stella, please, tell me what's wrong."

"I'm not twelve," I sobbed, vision blurred and voice hitched, "I'm not- I can't be that girl anymore and you don't want me the way I am. Nobody will." I snatched my hand back from his grasp, trying to run, to run away and not have to face everything I used to be reflected in Fred's loving blue eyes.

"Stella!" He called, chasing after and not letting me get more than a few feet away--damned heels--before grabbing my arm and making me stop. "Wait!" He growled, frustrated and breathless with the intensity of the moment, "What do you mean I don't want you? I've wanted you since you lied straight to the trolley lady's face on that first train ride! I'm fine with having made an idiot of myself if you don't feel the same but, bloody hell, going by that kiss, I'm pretty damn sure you do! Don't run away because you think I don't want you because it's not true!"

I sniffled, bordering on hysteria and unable to meet his gaze as I choked, "You don't understand. You don't know what I've done."

"Nothing you could ever do could make me not love you," Fred murmured heatedly, resting his forehead against mine as he held me close, "Merlin, Stella, you're just... you're perfect in every bloody way. You make me so crazy that I almost can't stand it. You're gorgeous, and so smart, and funny, and just... just _perfect_."

"But I'm not perfect!" I argued tearily, fighting futilely to get out of his grasp, "I'm _not_! You just- you don't know!"

"So tell me!" He pleaded, reaching up a hand to smudge tears and runny glitter makeup off my face, "Whatever it is, it's not going to change how I feel about you!"

"I-I-" The words wouldn't leave my mouth, seeming stuck as I stared up into Fred's gorgeous blue eyes. "I can't," I finally manage to whisper, having momentarily gotten control of my sobs because he needed to understand that this wasn't some hysterical declaration I was about to make; this was just the way it was. "You deserve better," I said, turning away, walking away, "I'm sorry.

I tried to get away from him again but, again, he grabbed me and pulled me back. I barely caught a glimpse of his fierce, stubborn expression before he folded me tight into his arms and kissed me soundly.

He just... he felt so _good_. I wanted to pull away. Well, I didn't _want_ to but I knew I should because, really, I was nothing but trouble and he really did deserve better. I couldn't though. I melted for the second time on that frigid winter night.

And Fred didn't stop kissing me until I was mewling mindlessly, my eyes closed and every nerve in my body thrumming as I lost the ability to think, as I pressed in closer for more. I could feel his breath on my face, his lips hot and wet as they slid against mine, his chest dense, heaving beneath my palms.

My eyes stayed shut when he finally stopped, squeezing me tighter in his arms as he rested his cheek against mine. We both sighed, shivered in excited contentment. "Don't want anyone else," He murmured into my ear, voice tight and dark, "There's no one better. I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to convince you. I'm not letting you run away from me. Not again."

I turned my face against his shoulder and just bawled because I knew he was going to try to do just that. He would waste his entire life on me and... there was nothing I could do to stop him. The twins could be stubborn as mules and Fred was quite possibly the worst one when it came to something he was passionate about. He set his sights on something and didn't stop until he had it. He was going to be that way about his joke shop and... he was going to be that way about me.

"I fucked Oliver Wood," I blurted out between sobs, sure he would hate me for it. But I figured if I had to make him hate me to save him from me, then I owed him that much.

Fred flinched and I waited for him to start screaming, to tell me I was a whore and walk away forever. He was quiet for what seemed like ages before finally stating, "Ok."

"What do you mean, _ok_?" I shouted, punching his chest hard in a futile attempt to fight my way out of his tight grasp, "That's- That's not _ok_! You're supposed to hate me! Say I'm a slut! Say you'll never forgive me, damnit!"

He frowned, petulantly declaring, "I could never hate you, Stella. I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled but I'm not a complete Neanderthal, either. I... I can forgive you."

I cried quietly against his shoulder for nearly ten minutes. Fred held onto me the entire time, swaying us to a phantom waltz. Before long, we were... dancing. Slow dancing out there beneath the stars with no music but our own to guide us.

"So," He finally stated when I calmed down and was just resting my chest against his heart, my arms wound loosely around his neck, "You want to tell me about it?"

I looked up at him quizzically before shamefully lowering my gaze. "You really want to hear this?" I muttered, lacing my fingers through his shaggy red hair and relishing its unnatural silkiness.

He shrugged, keeping his grip firm as he stated, "You said I wouldn't understand because I didn't know. I want to know so that I can understand."

Chuckling, I remarked, "You're too good to be true."

"Ya, it's a curse," He laughed, bending to kiss me right in a ticklish spot behind my ear.

I squirmed and giggled and sighed in defeat, knowing that I was hopelessly lost to this boy. "It, um," I told him quietly, seriously, "It started just after the Hufflepuff game last year. It was just sex and... I guess I needed to feel like someone wanted me."

Fred remained silent, drawing nonsense symbols on the small of my back as he waited patiently for the rest of the story. "It was over by the time we got back from break," I stated, voice shaking slightly, "He turned out to be kind of psychotic."

I sensed his frown before he looked down at me, face creased with worry as he smoothed my bangs away from my puffy eyes and asked, "What happened?"

"It was my fault to begin with," I insisted, unable to tear my gaze away from his, "I- when we broke up, he just... got a little rough with me."

"What did he do?" Fred growled, his arms tightening and his expression turning fierce. It would have been scary if I didn't know it wasn't directed at me.

"He was being an arsehole," I whispered, beginning to shake as I remembered the terror and pain of that moment, "So I told him to piss off and he... he didn't want to take no for an answer."

A deep, threatening growl rumbled through Fred's chest, followed by the heated declaration, "Son of a bitch. I'll _kill him_."

"Don't," I ordered flatly, turning my face away and staring off into the muted lilac-lit snow bank, "He didn't get too far. Cedric pulled him off and I took care of the rest. He hasn't bothered me much since."

"Much?" Fred pressed, voice still dangerous and low. He didn't have much of a temper, both twins being far too kindhearted and laidback for one, but certain things could set him off and he'd explode a powder keg. Hearing that Oliver had hurt me was definitely one of those certain things.

"Well," I chuckled dryly, "He followed me around for awhile. I had to threaten to slit his throat before he really got the hint... and I-I saw him last week. He came into Madame Malkin's while I was trying on my robes. He just... he stared and tried to make small talk, nothing else. I told him I'd kill him if he ever touched me again."

Despite the fact that Fred was still irate, a tense smirk spread over his face. "That's what was happening when we walked in to you holding the knife on him," The boy declared, looking rather smug and proud.

"Mhmm," I hummed, idly winding the hair at the nape of his strong neck through my slender fingers, "So that's it. You sure you don't want to change your mind about me? Run while you still can?"

"Stella," He murmured, a bit exasperated, "Did you listen to one word I said?"

I cracked a smirk, teasing, "Sorry, what was that? Got distracted."

"Cheeky brat," He laughed brightly, sweeping me into a sudden dip.

I gave a squeal of surprise, flailing and then clinging frantically to Fred's shoulders because I was afraid of getting dropped. His face hovered above mine, his grin wide and his hair falling charmingly into his crinkled blue eyes. Despite not being too fond of finding myself suspended from the ground by a power that was not my own, I couldn't help but smile back.

"I want to kiss you again," He stated matter-of-factly, eyes heavy-lidded and intense, "But not if it'll make you cry. What do you think?"

I raised an eyebrow at him, being difficult just because it was what I do best. "Oh," I teased, "So you're asking now? Whatever happened to your 'silence the hysterical female with some swift macho snogging' technique?"

He got a bit pink but the smile stayed firmly in place as he waggled his eyebrows and remarked, "Worked, didn't it? You were putty in my strong, manly hands."

"Can we move this along?" I requested, feigning annoyance, "I don't want your strong, manly hands giving out and dropping me on _my_ butt."

"Would never drop you," He breathed, sincere and slowly closing the space between our lips. Just before he darted in for his kiss, his smirked and added, "And I would certainly never do anything to endanger your magnificent behind."

As I was opening my mouth to offer a witty retort, he swept forward to capture my lips with his own. I settled for a breathless laugh, my eyes sliding shut as I surrendered to bliss.

xxXxx

We stayed outside for a bit longer, alternately chatting and kissing. I was surprised at just how easy the change in our relationship was turning out to be. Sometimes it was like everything was the same, like it was just me and my goofy best friend having a laugh. Others, everything was different. Fred would touch me with a tenderness I had never before noticed or stare at me looking awestruck, like I'd told him the secret to life instead of just made fun of his hat hair and it would take my breath away. It was comfortable though. Welcomed.

After awhile, I got cold despite my heavy cloak and Fred's arms around me and we decided to go inside. Besides, Fred was fairly sure George would want to switch back pretty soon. Angelina was probably driving him crazy.

We were close to the entrance of the Great Hall, just on the other side of the last row of hedges and near enough to already hear the music and chatter, when we ran into Harry and Ron. I froze and my godbrother froze and we stared blankly at each other as our companions stared awkwardly at the two of us.

I spoke first, cutting the tension with a disarming smirk and flippant greeting. "You two out for a romantic stroll as well?" I asked mockingly, clinging to Fred's arm and letting my head rest on his shoulder with a dreamy sigh, "Wax poetic about the stars in your lover's blue eyes, boy wonder. Gets 'em every time."

I received confused, vaguely horrified stares from all around. "Nobody can take a joke these days," I huffed in annoyance.

"Stella?" Harry gaped in disbelief, "That really you?"

"Depends on who you ask," I reported brightly, "I've told a lot of different people a lot of different names tonight."

Apparently taking that as the yes he was hoping for, Harry fidgeted nervously, asking, "How are you?"

I gave an over-exaggerated grin, chirping, "Turns out, not crazy. Imagine that." Just because I'd resolved to work towards a reconciliation with the boy didn't mean I was going to let him off the hook easy. He'd said some pretty horrible, maybe even unforgivable things to me and I couldn't just forget them.

His shoulders slumped, weighted down by the shame and embarrassment I could see on his young face. "I-" He began, voice quiet and sincere, "I'm sorry."

"Noted," I chirped, dragging Fred along to walk by the boy, bashing my shoulder hard against his as I passed. A few feet behind him, I stopped and turned and looked over my shoulder to see that Harry hadn't moved, that his head was still hanging pathetically.

"Hey," I called back, getting his attention in an instant. His big green eyes were wide and guardedly hopeful. "I really liked my Christmas present," I told him seriously, dismissively as I turned away again. Over my shoulder, I added, "Good luck on your champion thingie. Try not to die." It came out a bit more taunting than I originally intended but, hey, it was progress. At least I hadn't threatened to kill him myself.

Not giving Harry a chance to answer, I pulled Fred along with me and back into the Hall.

xxXxx

George was on us in an instant, seizing his brother by the arm and dragging him towards the bathrooms to switch outfits once again. Turns out, Angelina really was driving him crazy. He didn't take the criticism of his calves and eating habits quite as patiently as Fred had. He was about three seconds away from challenging her to duel for his honor when we finally showed up and saved everyone the awkward moment.

"She is just freaking power mad," The redhead declared as he threw himself down into the seat beside mine, back in his own robes after just three minutes outside with Fred because he really was that anxious to reclaim his identity. Apparently, he tackled Fred in the hallway and stripped him right there. It must've been quite the sight and didn't do much to quash my gay gangbang rumors.

"You didn't have to go along with Freddie's little scheme," I laughed, giddy and a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened.

"True," He answered, grinning evilly, "But it was worth it. My twin is now Official Guinea Pig Bitch for the next month. Just in time, too. I have a few ideas I wasn't all that thrilled about testing myself."

"I thought you freed him from his date out of the goodness of your heart," I teased, slipping off my shoes because they were sort of starting to kill and sliding my feet into George's lap. I smiled pleadingly, fluttering my eyelashes until he gave in and started to rub them. It felt really damn good.

"I might've," He responded, sniffing in a highly offended manner as he went to work on my poor feet, "But Freddie was so sure I wouldn't that he offered straight out. And I'm not about to say no to having an Official Guinea Pig Bitch at my disposal for a whole month." He gave an amused chuckle, daydreaming as he remarked, "I am going to turn him so many different colors."

We laughed but, before the conversation could proceed any further, we were interrupted by an haughty, throaty voice accusing, "_Vous __n'êtes__ pas __français_."

I turned and glanced over my shoulder and saw Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion. She was very pretty, standing slim and proud in designer robes as her long, silvery-blonde hair poured down her back. She also seemed to be fairly pissed, stance screaming insult and disapproval. Seeing as how the girl had just accused me of not being French, I took it to mean that she had a problem with the stories I was telling.

"_Oui, __cela __est __vrai_," I replied sweetly, shooting her a charming smile, "_V__ous __êtes__ le premier __remarquer. __Félicitations_" (Yes, that's true. You're the first to notice. Congratulations.)

Her expression softened somewhat, a smile tugging at the corners of her shapely mouth before she stated, "_Vous __parlez __très __bien. __A __vous__ a __habité__ en la France?_" (You speak very well. Have you lived in France?)

"_Oui_," I answered, offering her a seat beside me that she took daintily, "_J'ai __habité__ en Bordeaux pour __quelques __mois __quand __j'étais __neuf. __D'où __vous __sont?_" (Yes. I lived in Bordeaux for a few months when I was nine. Where are you from?)

"_Paris_," She announced, clearly quite proud of the fact. Turning to smile at George--who was looking a bit confused and slightly awestruck by both me and the part veela--Fleur asked, "_Quel __est__ son nom? __L'est __votre __copain?_" (What is his name? Is he your boyfriend?)

I laughed and wiggled my feet to indicate that the boy should continue the foot rub he'd begun to slack on, stating, "_N__on__, George __est __seulement__ un __très__ bon __ami_." (No, George is only a very good friend.)

"_Seriez-vous __offensé __si__ je __lui __ai __demandé__ de __danse__r?_" She inquired, smiling impishly, "_I__l __est __plutôt __bel__ et __j'aime__ roux_." (Would you be offended if I asked him to dance? He is rather handsome and I like redheads.)

"Who doesn't?" I snickered, relishing in the moment of pure girly silliness. It wasn't often that I got to talk to other females about stuff like boys and I was finding that I still rather enjoyed the subject. Fleur seemed pleasant enough, if a bit pushy and forward but, hell, I've heard the same things said about me so I really couldn't fault her. Not everyone can tolerate strong women.

"Haha," George jumped in blindly, tired of being overlooked because he really never had been able to go more than two minutes without having some attention focused his way, "Ya. Totally."

Fleur and I glanced at each other and then began to giggle. George smirked proudly, apparently content to delude himself into thinking that he'd made a joke instead of an arse of himself.

"Would you like to dance?" Fleur asked in an airy accent, offering a courtier smile and her delicate hand.

Grinning, George shoved my feet unceremoniously out of his lap. He wiped his palms on the front of his garish purple robes, popped his top hat back into its rightful place, and took Fleur's hand. "It would be an immense pleasure, _mademoiselle_," He chirped charmingly as he led her away towards the dance floor without a look back, "Did I say that right? _Mademoiselle_?"

I chuckled and shook my head as the conversation became overpowered by the music, relaxing into my seat and propping my feet back up into George's. It was getting a little hot so I shimmied out of my cloak before grabbing a fresh butterbeer and settling down to relax for awhile.

Unfortunately, relaxation didn't seem to be anywhere in my immediate future. No sooner had I gotten comfortable than I heard a familiar old voice state, "Miss Black, I'm not entirely sure that robe meets the school's dress code requirements."

I looked up and found myself face-to-face with Professor McGonogall, still as straight-backed and pinch-mouthed as I remembered her, wearing red tartan for the Ball. "Good thing I'm not your student anymore then," I declared, taking a long pull out of my drink, "It would be a shame if you had to ruin the festive occasion by handing down a detention or two."

She graced me with a tight smile, dragging a chair and settling in it right beside me. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about that," The old woman declared kindly, "Have you given any thought to returning to school?"

"Yup," I answered brightly, "I keep having the same thought: not going to happen."

Lips pursed tightly, she gave me a very stern, disapproving stare from over the top of her small square glasses, not a single black hair out of place from her no-nonsense bun despite the rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat. "I would ask you to reconsider," She told me plainly, "You were one of my brightest, most promising students. It would be a real shame to waste such natural talent and intellect."

"It would be a bigger shame if I ended up back in the nuthouse," I retorted flatly. She remained impassive, tense. "Don't worry about me," I told her with an easy smile, "I don't plan on wasting anymore of my life. I'll show up to take the OWLs at the end of the year. I might even take a crack at the NEWTs, too, if you'll let me. And then I'll be done with it and off to greener pastures."

She stared at me thoughtfully, old hands folded neatly in her lap. "Perhaps," She began, "We could make an arrangement for that based on your OWL performance."

I raised an eyebrow, taking another drink before questioning, "What kind of arrangement?"

"Well," She stating, gracing me with a rare, fond smile, "I have always thought you could stand being moved up a level. If your OWL scores prove that your last year and a half of slacking haven't dragged you terribly behind, then I might consider petitioning the headmaster for that to happen."

"So..." I drawled warily, "I'd skip sixth year, go straight to seventh and graduate next June?"

She nodded briskly.

"And... I'd be in class with the twins?"

Her old face blanched slightly, the woman muttering, "I hadn't quite thought of that part but, yes, I suppose so."

"Hmm," I hummed thoughtfully, "And could I arrange to have a room somewhere other than with those three harpies you stuck me with last time?"

"Given your past disagreements with Katie, Wendy, and Abigail," McGonogall said tersely, not looking too fond of my word choice, "I don't see any other option. The school has a few single rooms for special needs students. I could possibly allocate one for your use."

"What about getting off campus?" I went on, determined to pick this plan to death before I would even consider it, "Could I be allowed to go on and off at will? I need to stay close with my family and just be able to leave if people start getting on my nerves too much. And keep appointments with my shrink, too."

"Doctor's appointments will be no problem," The professor agreed, "The rest... I would need to speak with Professor Lupin, as he is your legal guardian. Pending his permission, I don't see why not."

I stared at her, rolling the plan around in my head. Just one more year. With the twins in my classes. My own room. Freedom to come and go.

"I'll think about it," I told her honestly, taking another long pull from my butterbeer, "I'd kind of like to kick arse on the tests just to prove how much smarter I am than the rest of the idiot filling of this place, but I don't know if can deal with them for a whole nother year."

"It is your choice, Miss Black," McGonogall answered kindly, standing and smoothing down her robes, "Take your time with my offer and come see me when you decide. We can discuss a course of action."

"Thank you, Professor," I said with a smile, "I really appreciate what you're trying to do for me."

"Think nothing of it," She dismissed casually as she began to walk away, "I'd just like a student who I know will be able to meet any challenge I hand her. I've missed you in my classes."

I was finally alone again, this time with a whole lot to think about. Between waving away boys asking me to dance, I watched the twins, Fred squirming uncomfortably as Angelina stopped their dance in order to squeeze his underdeveloped calf muscles, George twirling Fleur, his poor attempts at speaking the French she was trying to teach him loud enough to carry all the way to where I was sitting.

It would be great to be back with my friends. I knew that the twins would want me to return. I'd put them through a lot and I probably owed it to them.

I just didn't know if I could after everything I'd gone through in that place but, hell, I'd been sure I'd never even set foot back there and I ended up contemplating a triumphant return sitting in the midst of the Great Hall. McGonogall was right: I wasn't one to let a challenge go unmet.

I sat back and I thought.

xxxxxxxxxx

This one was sort of swimming around in my head so I had to get it out. Hope you all liked it. All the French phrases and translations were taken off various translators and websites. Sorry if they're wrong. I'd love to have someone correct them for me --hinthint--

In the meantime, reviews would be most appreciated :D


	15. Fever

Part 15 - Fever

When Madame Malkin asked if I'd be free after Christmas to be fitted for more robes for the photo shoot, she really meant _right_ after Christmas. I received an owl early in the morning the very next day. I'd barely been back at the Burrow for ten minutes and, seeing how I hadn't slept in about twenty-four hours due to all the Yule Ball festivities, I was just a little wiped out.

She wanted to check if I'd was free that afternoon at one. I did some quick math in my head, figuring that I could get about five hours of sleep. I wrote a semi-coherent reply promising to be there and then promptly fell face first into Fred's bed. I did not move until noon.

I woke up intending to call and talk to my dad. I left myself some extra time purely for that reason and dressed in what I felt was one of my cutest casual outfits: a red, clingy, off-the-shoulder sweater and a denim mini Tonks gave me for Christmas--it was a bit longer than I usually wore, but she'd made an adorable cluster of rhinestone hearts at one spot on the hem. But Bill bounced into the room at 12:10--he's really kind of a great big dork; I don't know why everyone insists that he's so cool--and demanded that I let him take me to lunch.

I announced that I was unfortunately busy, but then he wanted to know why. I told him about the appointment at one. He said that there was plenty of time to get lunch, that he would love to _escort__ me_ to the shop.

He just offered so adorably, so chivalrously--and with the dorkiest bow I have ever witnessed--that I was helpless to resist. I shrugged on my leather jacket, linked my arm with his, and we were off.

After a leisurely meal in a charming little caf on Diagon Alley, the two of us strolled into the dress shop and were immediately set upon by Madame Malkin. "Right on time, dear," The squat woman beamed, hustling me quickly into the back of the shop, "Who, may I ask, is your charming companion?"

I laughed, "Madame Malkin, meet Bill Weasley. He kidnapped me for lunch and insisted on coming along. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," She replied happily, steering us into a very cozy, tasteful little burgundy and gold sitting room where several couches as well as a kettle and biscuits were waiting. "Would you two like some tea?" She questioned, motioning for us to sit, "I'm afraid my photographer is running a bit late but he should be here in the next few minutes."

"I'd love some tea, Ma'am," Bill spoke up, offering his handsomest, flirtiest grin as he let his lanky body flop into one of the couches. He had Madame Malkin wrapped around his little finger in under three seconds flat.

We spent fifteen minutes or so chatting amicably, sipping tea, and munching on some splendid biscuits. I returned the traveling cloak she'd lent me but the dress, though I'd brought it along to model, was all mine. I told a little bit about the Christmas party I'd gone to, mostly just about the food and how much fun I had dancing. Madame Malkin told of her own Christmas, which she had apparently spent having a quiet but happy dinner with her sister's family in the States. She also let it slip that the photographer was her nephew.

And that was about the time he arrived, his light voice calling in from the front, "Aunt Jenny!"

"Back here, Jonathan!" Madame Malkin replied, heedless to the fact that Bill and I were sharing looks of surprise and wonder, both mouthing, '_Jenny?_'

A young man appeared in the doorway. He looked to be about Bill's age, early- to mid-twenties, with neat black hair parted on the left and a pair of thin-frammed square glasses perched on an aquiline nose that was smack dab in the middle of an astoundingly tan and angular face. He was tall and quite broad, chest and arms fitting snugly into a long-sleeved, bright purple Weird Sister's shirt. A stylishly thin black scarf hung loosely from his thick neck and crisp blue jeans stretched taut across his meaty thighs. He had a dazzling white smile for Madame Malkin.

"Hey, Aunt Jenny," He said, voice flat and unmistakably American. He strolled across the room to bend himself nearly in half in order to peck the old woman on her forehead. "Sorry I'm late," He went on, dark eyes seeming just a tiny bit too wide behind his thick glasses, "Lucy suckered me into babysitting and didn't get back when she said she would. I missed my port."

"Don't fret, Jonathan, dear," Madame Malkin replied, giving his prominent cheekbone a fond pat before allowing the man to stand back up to his impressive height, "Your sister owled to take full responsibility for your tardiness."

"Oh," He said, perking up, "That was nice of her." His handsome face fell just a few seconds later as he sullenly pouted, "And it's Ozzy. Everyone else calls me Ozzy. Even Mom. Why won't you?"

Waving him off, Madame Malkin turned away and answered, "Because I picked your name and I think it's beautiful. Now, stop moping and introduce yourself."

He spared his aunt one more unhappy glance before turning to Bill and me and offering out his hand along with a friendly grin. "Ozzy Oswald," He announced flirtatiously as he gave both my hand and Bill's a firm pump, "Which one of you lovelies is my model?"

I giggled and Bill blinked; he didn't have as much experience with men hitting on him as I did.

"That'd be me," I spoke up sweetly.

"Aw," Ozzy play-whined, sending a quick wink in Bill's direction, "Too bad."

"Jonathan Theodore Oswald!" Madame Malkin scolded shrilly, causing Ozzy to wince quite noticeably at the use of his full name, "You behave yourself!"

He gave a rather juvenile but very adorable huff, responding, "Yes, Aunt Jenny." Turning back to me, he was all business as he stated, "It'll be a pleasure to work with you..."

"Stella," I finished brightly, "Stella Black, and the pleasure is all mine... I've never really done this sort of thing before."

"No sweat," Ozzy answered, giving a blinding grin, "You just stand around and look gorgeous. I'll do the rest."

I laughed, joking, "Sounds like my kind of job. When do we start?"

"Well," Ozzy began happily, "Aunt Jenny's been gushing for a week about how great you look in some white silk number. Why don't you go put it on and let me see what level of babe-ness I'm dealing with?" He shot a handsome smile to Bill, who was fidgeting uncomfortably and trying to fade into the background. "I'll look after your friend here," Ozzy offered, "See to it he doesn't get too bored in your absence."

Quite enjoying Bill's predicament, I gave a slightly evil giggle and wandered off to change, calling, "That's very kind. I'll be sure to take my time then."

When I returned a few minutes later, Bill and Ozzy were gabbing away like old friends. I'm not exactly how Bill got over the fact that Ozzy clearly had a desire to jump him, but there you have it.

I cleared my throat and gathered the attention over everyone in the room, doing a delicate spin in the doorway.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ozzy gasped, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Madame Malking whapped him upside his neat head and he quickly added, "Ouch!... sorry, Aunt Jenny."

xxXxx

The rest of the afternoon wore on in much the same fashion. I tried on and was fitted for a ridiculous amount of clothing. Ozzy kept swearing, but, even with getting smacked in the head a lot, his grin kept getting bigger.

"You are _perfect_," He told me as he and Bill and I walked out of the shop past dark, "I mean... clothing catalogues don't usually have just one model doing the entire thing, but you're going to be it and I still don't think there's going to be enough of you."

In a surprising show of modesty, I blushed and giggled. "Well, thanks," I replied, my right arm linked with Bill's left, my left with Ozzy's right, "Maybe I can make a career out of this stand-around-looking-gorgeous gig. It would sure beat going back to Hogwarts."

Ozzy stared at me strangely for a few moments, seeming to be deep in thought. Finally, he asked, "How old are you?"

I smiled, "Fifteen."

He stared at me blankly again, not paying any attention at all to Bill's laughter in the background as the redhead was undoubtedly remembering his own experience with believing I was older than I was.

"No way," Ozzy breathed, still staring quizzically, "For real?"

"Unless the year on my birth certificate is a typo," I quipped in reply, "Don't worry, you're not the first person to think I was older than I actually am. I'm very tall for my age."

Ozzy snorted, teasing, "_Tall_. Ya, that's what did it..."

"Lech," I laughed, giving him a playful nudge with my shoulder.

"Caught me," He sighed dramatically, "Well, I was going to invite the pair of you out for some drinks, but I don't want to be corrupting the youth of today."

With a faint smile, I replied, "I don't drink anymore, but I'd love to come along if you and Bill want to hang out somewhere. I can order a milkshake."

Ozzy regarded me carefully, seeming to be debating whether or not to pry about the _anymore_ bit of my statement. He finally decided against it, grinning handsomely at Bill as he stated, "Sounds good to me. You in, Weasley?"

"Sure," Bill happily agreed, "I could go for a pint. Got any place in mind?"

"A friend of mine's been dying to get me into her place," Ozzy announced, smoothing down his hair and fiddling a bit with his glasses, "It's somewhere in London... I forget the name though... Cobalt... Coeval... Covert..."

"Coven?" I supplied, my interest definitely peaked. Coven was a wellknown hot spot of the wizarding world. Everyone from musicians to writers to quidditch players and socialites hung out there. The clientele was extremely exclusive.

"That's the one," Ozzy beamed, "I was promised a primo table all I could drink. What do you say?"

"I say that sounds fantastic," Was my delighted reply, "What are we waiting for?"

xxXxx

Ozzy's friend, Luisella Cordero, the owner of Coven, was very happy to see him and ushered us back to a private booth in the corner of her trendy little club. She gave one of her underlings orders that we were to get whatever we wanted, and then she excused herself; it was early but she had a lot of work to do before the crowds would start pouring in.

Bill ordered a pint. Ozzy ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. I got a chocolate malt. I felt bad about that because I know that places like Coven are not usually equipped to make chocolate malts and I'm fairly sure the underling had to run out and get it for me, but he over heard that that's what I was craving and ran right out to find one. Bless his heart. It was delicious.

The three of us hung out there for a long time without even realizing it. Bill and Ozzy were both goofy, flirty dorks and I had a total blast just messing around with them. Ozzy told us about his family, his mother and older sister Lucy, Lucy's husband, Jeremy, and their two little boys, Owen and Seth. He also went for a bit about all the work he's done in England and the States. Apparently, his work was very well-known in both places, both from an artistic and advertising standpoint. He was one of the premier wizard photographers of the age.

Before long, it was around midnight and the club was packed. Our little booth was apparently in some sort of V.I.P. section because not many of the regular patrons were allowed in and the area stayed reasonably quiet aside from our rowdy little trio. Bill and Ozzy had both finished their fifth and sixth drinks in rapid succession and I was eating a bowl of maraschino cherries when the two of them rather drunkenly decided that they would like to dance.

"I'm not sure if you old men can keep up with me," I teased, sliding elegantly out of the booth and giggling as I watched the pair of them wobble. They were a bit tipsy and I could already tell this was going to be very amusing.

"Respect your elders, you cheeky brat," Bill scolded with a stern but distracted grin as he watched a young thing in a short skirt flounce by.

"Ya, what he said," Ozzy giggled gruffly, taking one of my hands and dragging me towards the dance floor.

We had a blast, dancing together for a few songs before Bill paired off with his flouncy young thing and Ozzy wandered away to chat up a blonde fellow who was wearing a very flattering mesh tank top. I stayed on the dance floor, finding no shortage of partners and having a wonderful time just moving to the music.

It was _fun_. A little over half a year ago, I wasn't certain I would ever have fun ever again and I loved that I'd been wrong. I loved that I could enjoy life.

I was dancing alone to a nice song that sounded vaguely like a snythy, sped up version of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida when I felt a new presence slip in behind me, a deep and familiar Scottish brogue blowing hot in my ear, "Fancy seeing you here."

I tensed up immediately, standing stock still in the middle of the dance floor and trying not to start shaking. "Go away, Wood," I growled, unable to make myself move or turn around or run or anything.

"I just want to talk, Stel," The young man whined in what I'm sure he thought was a seductive manner, "Come on. Give me two minutes."

"I've got nothing to say to you," I hissed, sounding a hell of a lot braver than I felt, "Leave me alone."

I was still frozen to the spot so Oliver used the opportunity to get closer. I could feel the heat pouring off his body through the back of my shirt as he spoke. "Look, Stel," He pleaded, "I'm sorry. I know I was a bastard. I've got a temper and I did some things that I'm not proud of, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I miss you and I just want another chance."

"No," I replied flatly, trembling because I couldn't tell exactly how close he was and I was ready to turn around and slit his through if he tried to touch me... and then I remembered that I'd left my knife in my jacket in the booth so I would have to choose another method for killing the keeper. That was fine as long as the end result was the same.

"Don't you remember how good we were together?" He purred in my ear, body hovering behind mine, "Fucking up against the wall in the quidditch showers, under the bleachers. That one time in the library still gets me hard just thinking about it."

He must have mistaken the tremor that ran down my spine as arousal instead of shame-filled fury because he reached out and took my hips in both his large hands, pulling my arse against his crotch to feel the hard-on he was sporting. And I whipped around so fast he didn't even have time to look surprised before I broke his fucking nose and brought my knee hard up into his gut.

Before I could land another blow, someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me away from the whimpering, crumpled up mass of Scottish douche bag. "What the fuck, Stella?" Bill growled, physically restraining me from going back and finishing Oliver off, carrying me back towards our booth.

"Let me go!" I choked, hysterical and suddenly aware that I was crying, "He needs to die! I fucking warned him and now he needs to die!"

We made it to the table and Bill managed to manhandle me into sitting down at it, holding my arms against my sides as he stared at me for some sort of clue as to why I was freaking out. Being restrained, however, only made it worse. It made me feel helpless and vulnerable and just completely fucking terrified.

Ozzy arrived and put up privacy and silencing charms just seconds before I started screaming.

"Stella!" Bill shouted, trying and failing to hold me down and only succeeding in pushing me farther and farther into the fit, "Stella, stop it!! It's me!! It's Bill!!"

"LET GO!!!" I screeched, too far gone to understand what was being said, "LET ME GO!! GET OFF!! DON'T TOUCH ME!!"

I finally wriggled myself free, scrambling backwards away from Bill until I was huddled in the corner of the booth with absolutely nowhere to go, breathing hard as my gaze flickered wildly over Bill and Ozzy standing bewilderedly in my only escape route.

My heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of my chest, and I was absolutely stuck in a loop of intense fear and paranoia.

And then I wasn't. I blinked and seemed to come back into myself, my eyes filling with miserable tears as Bill cautiously moved closer.

"Stella?" He questioned hesitantly, holding his arms out in a defensive manner as he slid across the booth seat, "Stella, are you alright? It's just me. It's Bill."

"Bill," I repeated numbly just moments before bursting into tears, hiding my face against my knees and sobbing for all I was worth. Bill very cautiously drew me into his steady embrace and allowed me to bawl into his shoulder, whispering, "Shhhh. It's alright, Stel. It's alright. I got you, little one."

I'm not sure exactly how long I cried without pause before hearing Bill whisper, "I'm gonna get her home, mate. Catch you later."

"Ya," I heard Ozzy reply, "No worries. Take care of her... I think I'll go speak with the handsy dude that started this whole mess."

Bill picked me up gently from the booth, cradling me against his chest and walking off towards the back exit as he agreed, "Good job. Make sure to pass on some of my sentiments for the runt as well as your own."

The cool night air stung my feverish cheeks.

xxXxx

I was mostly calm by the time we got home to the Burrow. Bill was mostly sober and insisted on making me a cup of cocoa before allowing me to go to bed because, despite the flush on my face, I was shivering uncontrollably inside my leather jacket. I hadn't worn it on the journey and that was probably a mistake.

"Are you sure you won't take a pepper-up?" Bill prodded, setting a mug down in front of me and pressing his palm to my forehead, "You're really warm... must've caught a chill."

"I'm fine," I insisted, trying not to sound hoarse and not really succeeding, "Just tired... sorry for freaking out."

Suddenly looking far more grown up than normal, Bill spared me with a soft glance and answered, "It's alright... you want to talk about it?"

I vehemently shook my head, biting back a moan when the movement caused a rather disconcerting amount of pain to flare behind my eyes and at the base of my skull. "I'd like to go to bed," I murmured, practically falling asleep at the table, "I'm really tired."

"Sure," The redhead agreed, carefully helping me to my feet and hovering as I moved up the stairs towards the twins' bedroom. He saw me in and then finally left after another dozen reassurances that I was fine.

Without bothering to change, I collapsed into Fred's bed and curled into his blankets, fighting desperately for warmth until exhaustion overtook me.

xxXxx

The fever knocked me on my arse for almost an entire delirious week. I don't remember all that much but I have quite a wealth of secondhand knowledge from my many visitors during that time.

The majority is from Bill. He felt guilty because he thought he'd made me sick by not insisting I put on my jacket before carrying me out of the club. Even after repeated reassurances that he could hardly be blamed, the stubborn jackarse still maintains that it was his fault.

The guilt led to him lengthening his holiday in order to watch over me. He says I was mostly quiet, asleep but restless as he sat by my bed and caught up on a lot of his paperwork.

On some occasions, when the fever was spiking high enough, I had vivid hallucinations, thrashing and screaming and crying. Bill said I called out for my mum, my dad. I fought like hell when he or Mrs. Weasley tried to hold me still, sobbing for them not to touch me, "_Don't touch me! I don't want to! Please! Stop! I'm sorry! Stop!_"

But, mostly, I was quiet.

Ozzy popped into check on me a few times, bringing flowers and raunchily-worded get-well cards I could not full appreciate until after I was better. Remus came whenever he was off work, as did Tonks, the two of them sat at my bedside together most nights to give Bill and Mrs. Weasley a break from their vigils.

Unfortunately, everyone was so preoccupied with taking care of me, worrying and trying to get me better, that they failed to notice the letters addressed to me that were piling up. Most were from Fred. He'd been trying to get in touch with me since the very next day after the Yule Ball, excited about the step we'd taken and very anxious to take another. He wanted to go on a date.

But, the longer time stretched without a reply to his letters, the more nervous he got. The poor boy thought I'd run off again, or that I was mad at him, or that he'd scared me away. He had a miserable time during those days as well.

Shortly before my fever finally broke for good, he got fed up and, on the advice and with the help of his twin, he broke out of Hogwarts and headed the Burrow. He was absolutely resolved to see me. He had a whole speech ready in case I was having second thoughts about us. I've heard it was quite good.

But he arrived to find that I was just ill, and he and George began scolding all involved parties for not having told them sooner. Their mother quickly fired back with the fact that they were not supposed to be out of school, asking how many rules they'd broken in their ridiculous little quest, and that pretty much shut the pair right up.

But Fred took up a post at my bedside, holding my hand and petting my sweaty forehead as I whimpered and fidgeted and moaned in my sleep.

When I came to about a day later, his was the first face I saw, that blinding grin I'd grown to love looking hopeful and very relieved.

"Hey, Stel," He stated quietly, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, "How you feeling?"

I blinked, at him and at my blurry surroundings, unable to remember where I was or what the fuck crawled into my throat and cut one just before it died. "Fred?" I whispered blearily, "'S goin' on?"

"We were in Paris," He replied softly, his grin warm against my palm, "Dancing under the Eifel Tower, under the stars. I professed my love in a poetic manner and you swooned terribly, poor girl." I let out a low chuckle but he just kept going, "I caught you, of course, and took you straight away to a lovely seaside resort to recuperate. As soon as you feel up to it, we'll go for a long walk on the beach and eat something snooty."

"Sounds nice," I hummed, fighting to keep my eyes open, "No snails though, 'k?"

"You're up!" A new voice called happily. Letting my head flop weakly towards the door, I was just able to make out the blurry shapes of Bill and George walking into the room. They took seats on the opposite side of the bed as Fred, Bill reaching out to feel my clammy forehead as George teased, "Nice to see those pretty eyes again, Sleeping Beauty."

I was still struggling valiantly to keep them open, weakly mumbling, "Ditto, Georgie Porgie..."

"Fever's down," Bill announced, standing with a smile, "I'll let Mum know. She's been waiting to pump you full of potions."

"Mmm," I complained, finally losing my battle against the weight of my eyelids and slipping back into a deep slumber.

xxXxx

I took a few more days to get back my strength. Mrs. Weasley made sure I stayed in bed, force feeding me all manner of disgusting potions as her and Fred and Bill and Remus hovered almost constantly. I appreciated that they cared so much but, honestly, it started to get really annoying.

"Fred," I scolded, stopping the rambunctious redhead in the bathroom doorway, "You are not following me into the shower."

Pouting, he argued, "But I can help. I'm an excellent back washer."

I answered with a devilish grin, stating, "I'm sure you are, but your services are not needed." He began to argue, but I silence him with a finger to his soft lips. "Don't worry," I cooed, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek, "I'll be fine. And you'll be the first person I call if I decide I want some assistance."

His smile was blinding. "I'm going to hold you to that," He joked, leaning to watch me for as long as possible as I laughed and shut the door on him.

I turned on the water but did not get in, sitting down dizzily on the toilet seat and listening as Fred's footsteps gradually faded away down the hall. Once I was sure he was gone, I took my dad's mirror out of my pocket and opened it up.

"Daddy?" I whispered into the smooth, shining surface, "Are you there?" For a long few moments, nothing happened and I was afraid that he wasn't going to answer. I knew that I'd waited along time to call him again, much longer than I meant to because of getting sick and then all the people that refused to leave my side. Hell, it was only due to some very fortunate distractions and subtle sleight of hand that I'd even managed to get the mirror out of its box. I was very worried that I'd hurt my dad's feelings in waiting so long, that he was going to be mad.

But his face appeared and I didn't feel as worried anymore because he smiling. "Hey, baby," He greeted, his voice soft and dark, his eyes crinkled and light, "How are you?"

"A little down," I replied, stroking the surface of the glass, "I got sick just after the ball. That's why I didn't call you. I feel much better but... I dunno. Just tired still, I guess."

"That's no good," My dad answered, touching his glass in the same spot as me so that our fingers were almost making contact, "I'm glad you're alright now though... did you have fun at your ball?"

"Oh ya," I gushed brightly, "It was great! I gave out a bunch of different aliases with a bunch of different crazy stories attached to them and people believed me! I was an exchange student, and a model, and a... uh, an actress, and a _spy_!"

He stared up at me, smirking roguishly and full of pride, and stated, "That's a good girl. Mischief is the spice of life, I always say."

Giggling, I agreed, "I say it, too. I guess we're alike that way. Remus told me that I take after you. My favorite description of his is that we're both 'shaggy, full of hellfire, and out to gray all of his hair.'"

"Sounds accurate," Dad answered with a great barking laugh that almost seemed too big for his malnourished body, "And it's nice to know that someone's been keeping Moony's hair nice and silvery in my absence."

"Of course," I chirped, "Happy to oblige... speaking of absences, are you going to come see me soon?"

His gaze grew sad but hopeful. "Soon, baby," He told me, "I'm hoping I can get to you in the next month or so. We're still trying to work out a safe location... I know it's hard and just a bit hypocritical coming from me, but I need you to be patient."

"I am patient," I agreed dutifully, "I'm just excited, too. That's all. I miss you, Daddy."

"I miss you, too, Stella," He answered, voice filled with sincerity and longing, "I miss you so damn much. I've thought about you every single day."

"Me, too, Daddy," I countered quietly, trying to will down the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I cleared my throat, doing an abrupt subject change by asking, "Are you staying warm and getting enough to eat? I could send you supplies, you know. And a Christmas present. I didn't get you a Christmas present."

Chuckling, my dad replied, "Don't worry about me, baby. All I need is that supernova smile of yours. Besides, I'm the parent. I should be the one making sure you're staying warm and getting enough to eat."

"Mrs. Weasley's definitely seeing to that," I laughed, "I was barely able to sneak into the shower. As it is, she might end up busting down the door and dragging me back to bed once she realizes I've gotten up."

"Good old Molly," Dad stated fondly, proving that I'd also inherited my tendency for awkward transitions from the man when he added, "Did you get to do your modeling thing yet? Shoud I look out for you in the papers?"

"Not yet," I said with a smile, "I only just went and got fitted and met the photographer. He's really nice. Besides, it's not like I'm in anything that important. It's just a dress catalogue."

"I still think I'll want to frame it," Dad answered sincerely, "I get so damn proud of everything you do. Do you remember when you were little? All those drawings you used to make for me? I saved every last one. Had a special drawer in my desk just for them."

My heart swelled, a smiling stretching my cheeks almost to a point of discomfort. I barely trusted my voice to answer but I did anyways, tearfully whispering, "I remember. Mum got mad once because I... I scribbled on the wall and you didn't want to let her wash it off. You said it was evidence of my blossoming genius and she said you were off your nut."

We spent a long few moments just smiling at each other, lost together in bittersweet memories of the woman we'd both lost.

A sharp knock on the door made me jump. "Stella?" I heard Fred call worriedly through the wood, "Are you... talking to yourself?"

"Of course not," I fired back in an instant, winking down at the glass' surface, "That would be completely crazy and I'm only half so."

As my dad snickered quietly to himself, Fred uncertainly responded, "Well, um, I knew that... just... try not take too long in there, ya? Mum's sending me and George back to school soon, and I want to have a few more chances to fluff your pillow and handfeed you some piping hot nourishment."

"Alright," I agreed brightly, "Keep your shirt on. I'm coming." I listened to his footsteps gradually fade once more, turning back to the mirror with a sad, lopsided smile. "I'd better get my shower in," I said, "And then get out there... I'll try to call you tonight. Hopefully for longer."

Dad nodded in understanding, "Sure, baby. Just concentrate on getting yourself well and I'm sure we'll talk soon. I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy," I responded, pressing a brief kiss to the mirror, "Bye."

xxXxx

I had a lot on my mind when I got out of the shower, thoroughly drying my short, shaggy blonde hair so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't fret. I thought mostly about my dad, about what he'd said about those drawings I'd made him... his whole face had lit up when he talked about those old things. I began to wonder whatever had happened to them...

"Hey, Remus," I called, catching my godfather and Tonks as they walked through the front door together.

"Hello, love," He greeted, scarred face stretching into a happy but concerned smile as he quickly crossed the living room to pull me into a hug, "You're up! Does Molly know that you're up? Do you feel alright?"

"I'm much better, thanks," I assured him with a laugh. After a brief beat, I went on, "I was, er, just wondering about something that maybe you could help me with."

His silver-streaked blonde hair fell handsomely into his light gold eyes as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'll do my best," He replied, "What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, quietly asking, "Do you know what happened to my parents' things? After the Ministry seized the house?"

"Narcissa Malfoy looted everything," Tonks spoke up, cold fury written on her pretty face, "I remember because my mum had a fantastic row with her about it, saying that those things belong to you and Aunt Leda, that you two needed them a hell of a lot more than that hag did. I think she sold the house, too. All property should've went to you and your mum, but the Ministry really had it out for her because of how openly she was defending Sirius. They used the fact that your parents had been married in a muggle ceremony in Vegas to say that their marriage wasn't legitimate and all property therefore went to Sirius' blood relatives."

The pure and unrelenting hatred I've always felt for the Ministry and for my dad's family flared to a whole new level. "Do you know if she still has any of the things she took?" I ventured, very aware that Remus was staring at me in that way he did when he was sure I was up to something but wasn't yet one-hundred-percent on exactly what.

"Dunno," Tonks told me, carding her fingers through her short bubblegum-pink hair nearly had enough to rip it out by the roots, "I'd say it's probable. That mansion of theirs is pretty huge."

"Interesting," I murmured under my breath, already formulating a plan.

"Stella," Remus scolded quietly, "Whatever you're thinking right now, stop it. The last thing you need is a confrontation or another arrest."

"It's a little late for that," A curt, very precise voice cut in as its redheaded owner appeared in the open doorway. Percy stamped some snow off his boots and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up on his nose. He had a neat roll of parchment in one of his thin hands and a truly uncomfortable look of pity on his face.

I squirmed under his scrutiny, remembering all too vividly that he'd been in the room when I played the Ministry council my memories of what happened that night with Claire...

I couldn't bring myself to make eye contact.

"A Mr. Oliver Wood has filed a complaint," Percy began without ceremony, staring at me with an intense look of sympathy as he held out the roll of parchment, "Alledging you assaulted him in a nightclub on December the 26th. You did not respond to the letter sent out informing you of the charge, and the hearing is tomorrow so I felt that I should make sure you knew."

Somewhere in that pile of unanswered mail, was a Ministry form detailing everything to that effect. I found and went over it later that evening before burning it in an attempt to make myself feel better.

"Stella," Remus sighed, taking the scroll out of my limp hand and unfurling it, his eyes quickly scanning the document, "You've been fighting again? What happened?"

"Bloody prat doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself," I murmured, feeling my face turning red with shame because I knew that Percy knew, "Wasn't my fault."

"What's not your fault?" Fred asked as he and George and Bill trailed in from the kitchen. The twins both swung an arm around my shoulders from either side, nodding hellos to Percy and waiting expectantly for an answer.

"Stella is being charged with assaulting Oliver Wood," Remus announced, sounding a bit exasperated with my antics, "She's going to have to attend another hearing tomorrow."

I felt both twins tense up. "Wood was bothering you again?" Fred growled in a surprisingly tender manner, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't a big deal," I replied, gaze down, "I took care of it."

"I'll kill him," Fred went on, acting like he hadn't heard a word I said, "I'll fucking kill him!"

"The bloke from the club?" Bill questioned, forehead wrinkling thoughtfully, "You've had problems with him before? You should've said something. Ozzy and I would have sorted him."

"I told you," I replied acidly, "I took care of it."

"You probably don't have anything to worry about," Percy reassured me, talking gently, rather condescendingly, like I was an infant who'd been frightened by a thunder clap, "Given your past history, a claim self-defense due to extreme emotional trauma will most likely set things straight."

"What's that mean?" Fred spoke up, "'Past history'?"

"Nothing!" I snapped, getting pissed off and panicky, "It doesn't mean anything!" Glaring straight at Percy, I hissed, "Shut _up_!"

He frowned, "I'm only trying to help."

"Well DON'T!!" I shouted, throwing off the twins' arms and snatching the scroll out of Remus' hands, "Don't try to help!... and stop looking at me like that!!"

The room got very quiet.

Mrs. Weasley entered from the kitchen, glancing around for a few moments before sternly demanding, "What in Merlin's name is going on in here? Stella, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Being indicted," I snarled.

"Lovely," The squat little woman replied with an annoyed huff, "We'll you're going right back to bed now. Say goodbye to the twins. They're off for Hogwarts."

My tirade seemed to deflate a little as I looked over to Fred and George and saw that they seemed quite hurt by my anger. I seized them both into as fierce a hug as my weakened body could manage. "Sorry, guys," I whispered, kissing them both on the cheek, "Don't worry. I'll be fine... and try not to get in too much trouble without me, ya?"

"Of course, Stel," George responded brightly, giving me a tight squeeze and moving away to allow his brother a bit of time to himself, "Get better quick and then come see us. We miss having you around."

Fred crushed me against his chest, burying his face in my hair and inhaling deeply. "Promise me you won't go after Wood," I whispered, feeling his arms immediately tighten and shake with anger. "Promise me," I repeated, hugging him back just as hard, "I don't want you getting in trouble or hurt over this."

After a long moment, Fred answered, "I promise I'll try my best to resist the urge to feed him his own testicles."

I gave an airy giggle, sighing, "I guess I can't ask for much more than that... stay safe, alright? I'll come visit in a few days."

"And you'll let me take you out on a proper date, won't you?" Fred pressed, picking his head up in order to give a charming smile, "I think it's the least you can do to reward me for my great self-restraint."

"Of course, you dweeb," I laughed, kissing his cheek once more, "All you had to do was ask."

xxXxx

I went to bed and the twins were _supposed_ to go back to Hogwarts. However, they decided to take a detour to Percy's flat.

Being the predictable fellow that he is, Percy politely declined his mother's invitation to stay for dinner with the excuse that he had a lot of work to do and then went straight back to his office. This gave the twins an opportunity to do a little B&E and snoop through the stacks of detailed notes and journals their brother had always kept since he was seven. Like I said, predictable.

"Found anything?" Fred asked anxiously as he and his mirror-image sat cross-legged on the floor of Percy's painfully neat bedroom.

"Nope," George replied, leafing through one of the hardbound books, "No mention at all of Stel since last year... you?"

"Not a thing," Fred answered with a sigh, "I think this one's more recent through so I guess we'll see. I'm sure there's got to be something in these damn books to explain why they were both acting so weird today."

"Ya," George agreed, "The prefect obviously knows something we don't..."

They flipped pages in silence for a few more minutes.

"I think I've got it," Fred suddenly announced, frowning down into the book as his eyes darted quickly across the too-neat lettering, "He's got an entry about Stella's trial..." After a few more seconds his face went so pale that all he was was freckles.

"She..." He whispered, his voice shaking noticeably, "She was raped."

"What?" George demanded, scrambling across the floor and craning to get a look into the open journal, "Are you sure? What's it say? Who did it? Was she alright?"

"It was..." Fred stuttered, his eyes moving so furiously over the lines that he looked like he might be having some sort of seizure, "It was the girl... the one who got killed... she broke Stella out of the mental institute and overpowered her... Stella pushed her away after wards and she hit her head..."

The twins were stunned into silence, staring at each other and at a complete loss for what to do.

Nosy bastards.

xxxxxxxxxx

Woo. Drama, drama, drama. Hope you kiddies enjoyed this one and hopefully I'll have more for you at some point in the near future. Remember, reviews make me get down and boogie oogie oogie. Cheers.


	16. Trials and Tribulations

Part 16 - Trials and Tribulation

It was only my second in what turned out to be an impressive string of Ministry criminal proceedings, but I had already come to the indisputable conclusion that I was not a fan of being on trial. Alas, there was nothing I could do. Oliver Wood had brought charges against me for beating him up in a nightclub--justifiably, mind you--and I either had to show to defend myself or get automatically thrown into prison for probably a truly unjust amount of time.

"All you have to do is tell the truth," My lawyer, Mr. Besnick, coached quietly as the pair of us waited in a private room, courtesy of Mr. Weasley, "Wood is out of line and I don't think we've got anything to worry about from the charge."

"Out of line or not," I replied, trying to massage away the twinge of pressure at my temples, remnants of a fever I was not entirely over, "It's not nothing to worry about. The Ministry's got it bad to put a Black back on the Azkaban roster, and I'm starting to think that they don't really care which one they end up with... I just... I can't believe Oliver did this. I can't believe he's such a prick and I didn't see it for so long..."

Mr. Besnick laid a kind hand on my shoulder, softly stating, "That's not your fault, dear. I've found that people are very good at hiding their true natures."

I sighed, "Yeah. I know you're probably right. I still feel stupid though... do I have time to go to the bathroom before the hearing starts?"

The old man glanced at his wristwatch, answering, "Yes, plenty. It's just out the door and down to the end of the hall. Make a left and then another left right away, and then it'll be the first door on the left."

"Thanks," I said with a slight grin, sauntering off and away towards the bathroom. I went in and did what people do in bathrooms. When I came out, Oliver Wood was there waiting, leaning against the opposite wall.

The broken nose I'd given him a week previous was mostly healed. His face was still a bit puffy, bearing a yellowed raccoon mask around what I assumed used to be a pair of blackened eyes. He had the grace to look sheepish but not enough sense not to smile.

"Come for round two?" I spat, freezing in the doorway and clenching my fists at my sides, "My lawyer said not to talk to you but he didn't say anything about kicking your arse. That is, of course, if you promise not to tattle like a little bitch this time."

He grinned crookedly. "As much as it drives me nuts," He said almost fondly, "I've got to say that smart mouth is one of the things I like most about you."

"Thanks," I chirped flatly, "Would you like a head start or do you want to take your beating like a man?"

"Stella," He sighed, sounding quite sincere and remorseful, "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't mean to do those things. And I can't stop thinking about you. It's been an entire _year_ and you're still on my mind all the damn time. If I could get over you, I would. I've tried. But it's not happening. And I want another chance. Just give me a _chance_."

"No," I responded, barely able to keep my voice even as the cold fury pulsed through my body and my tension headache increased exponentially, "Honestly, Captain, I got a glimpse at the real Oliver Wood, the petty, violent control freak you hide behind that golden boy exterior and I don't want a damn thing to do with him. You could spend the rest of your life being nothing but sweet to me and it wouldn't matter. I would know that you were still the same man inside, the one who smacked the hell out of me, the one who tried to and would have raped me, the one who spread those... those _horrible_ rumors and made me feel so bad about myself that... that I... I almost _died_, Oliver. You have _no idea_ what you put me through and now I'm supposed to give you another chance because you're _sorry_? Because you _can't get over me_? On what planet do I owe you anything but another busted nose and a shot to the balls so hard you'll never procreate?"

He sort of squirmed, an inch or two taller than me but seeming cowed by my impressive rant. "One date," He offered firmly, swallowing a lump in his thick throat, "That's all I'm asking here. Just one. Let me prove I'm not... not what you think I am. Give me that much and I'll drop the charges and... and if you still hate me afterwards, I'll never bother you again."

I was practically vibrating with rage, stepping forward and getting in Oliver's face so lightning fast that he couldn't help flinching. Through great restraint, I did not kill or even maim the bastard. Not even a little and I think that shows great personal growth. I took a deep breath and, as calmly as I could manage, hissed, "If it's a choice between you and Azkaban, I choose Azkaban. At least there the monsters look like monsters."

And then I stepped away, forced myself to walk away, not looking back but adding, "I'll see you in court, Captain."

xxXxx

Oliver dropped the complaint ten minutes later. I really think he only filed it to get me there, to have some leverage to use over me to get a date. But my closing comment must've struck a chord and he seemed to finally give up, fading quietly into the margins of my world.

Fudge was pissed at having me slip through his fingers for a second time, his face all purple and blotchy as he watched me walk out with my lawyer, family, and friends. I had a rage induced migraine so couldn't really enjoy the fact that I was the one making our good minister turn all those lovely colors, but being free did take a bit of the sting off the day.

Back at the Burrow, I turned down lunch, nauseas and shaking and trying to hide it by saying I was just tired and wanted a nap. Bill was heading back to Egypt in a few hours so we exchanged our goodbyes then, because he didn't want to have to wake me since I needed the sleep. He squeezed me tight and kissed my cheek, laughing that I'd better write, that I'd better watch out for the twins and for myself, and that I'd better come see him the next time I was in Egypt. I agreed to the terms as happily as I could manage and then stumbled up to the twins' bedroom.

I really didn't feel well. Not at all. The combination of being sick and then having to deal with Oliver and the Ministry, and Mrs. Weasley's hovering and Remus' worry and the appointment I was going to have to go to soon with my shrink, not to mention Percy, who was the only one of my friends who knew what happened with Claire, and the twins, who I kind of felt bad about not having told, and the great dilemma I had about whether or not to return to Hogwarts the following term... well, it all just piled up. And then there was my dad, still on the run, and I just wanted to see him, to touch him and know that he was really real. I wanted to find my mom's evidence and set him free. I wanted to break into the Malfoy mansion and steal my parents' things back.

I wanted to not feel so damn helpless against the world.

Though I needed it, I couldn't sleep and merely stayed curled up in Fred's bed for several hours, trying not to move too much because moving made my head throb in agony.

I felt like shit, physically, mentally, emotionally... and I wanted my daddy.

"Daddy," I croaked miserably, cradling the mirror he gave me weakly in my palms, "Daddy, are you there?"

His face appeared after only a few moments. I could barely see it because the room was so dim, because the tears in my eyes and pain in my head were making my vision blur and swirl and I couldn't sit up from the pillow.

"_Baby?_" Dad questioned, frowning and concerned and reaching out to touch the mirror surface like he wanted to be touching me, "_What is it? What's wrong?_"

I was crying in pitiful, whimpering gasps and struggled to reply, "I-I don't feel good."

"_Are you getting sick again?_" He ventured urgently, "_Baby, if you're sick, I want you to go tell __Remus__ or Molly. They'll take care of you, make you feel better._"

Shaking my head, I sniveled, "It's not just that... I don't feel well but I also don't feel _good_. I-I-... I can't explain it but everything is just... too much... and it's... it's _wrong_ and I can't _fix it_!! I don't know what to do!!"

"_Start off just taking a deep breath,_" He advised quietly, voice full of gravel and worry, "_Try to calm down a bit so you can tell me all of what's wrong, alright? Tell me what's wrong and then we'll sort it out together._"

I choked down a few big gulps of air, trying to do what my dad told me to. I couldn't manage it though. Every breath just seemed to add to the crushing weight that was already sat on my chest and my head and I was crying so hard because it _hurt_.

"_Stella,_" He called out sternly, sounding vaguely like he was panicking, "_Stella, listen to me! You're going to make yourself sick if you go on like this! You need to calm down!_"

I couldn't answer because I couldn't stop, my chest tight and stomach knotted and head aching and whole body sore, weary. I just... I didn't know what was wrong with me but it was _too much_.

And then I heard it, the soft, familiar, soothing croon drifting out of the mirror and into the room.

_It was written that I would love you_

_From the moment I opened my eyes_

_And the morning when I first saw you_

_Gave me life under calico skies_

_I will hold you for as long as you like_

_I'll hold you for the rest of my life_

I hadn't heard the song since I was two years old. My dad used to sing it to me when I had nightmares, when I crawled into my parents' bed crying.

_Always looking for ways to love you_

_Never failing to fight at your side_

_While the angels of love protect us_

_From the innermost secrets we hide_

_I'll hold you for as long as you like_

_I'll hold you for the rest of my life_

The effect was almost instantaneous, like it had been programmed into me. My sobs began to die into gulping hiccups. My eyelids grew heavy and slowly closed as I just listened and let my daddy's voice ease me into much-needed sleep.

_Long live all us crazy soldiers_

_Who were born under calico skies_

_May we never be called to handle_

_All the weapons of war we despise_

_I'll hold you for as long as you like_

_I'll hold you for the rest of my life_

_I'll hold you for as long as you like_

_I'll hold you for the rest of my..._

_For the rest of my life..._

xxXxx

I woke slowly, my eyes feeling hot and puffy from crying. It took me a few moments to remember why.

"We agreed, Padfoot!" I could hear Uncle Remus just outside the door of the twins' bedroom, voice low and secretive, "We agreed it would be in both your best interests!"

"_That was before!_" My dad answered angrily, sending my heart into my throat and my body rocketing up out of bed. My mirror was not on the pillow where I left it; Remus must've have come in while I was sleeping and picked it up... so much for the gift being a secret...

"_You told me she was better!_" My dad continued on, "_You said!_"

"I said she was _getting better_," Remus argued, "And she is! But Stella is suffering some very severe emotional issues and none of us can expect them to just disappear. She needs time and patience."

"_That's why I should be with her!!_" My dad shouted, "_She was hysterical and I wanted to be able to hold her in my arms and I couldn't!! You have to get me to her, Moony! Please!_"

"Keep your voice down!" Remus hissed, "You'll wake her! I've been trying, Padfoot. The Order has been working to find a safe place for you to hide but we haven't been able to. Nothing has the kind of security we need."

I pressed my ear to the closed door.

"_I don't care!_" Dad shouted, "_My baby girl needs me and I've spent far too long already not being there for her! I'm coming to see her!_"

Though I knew how dangerous that plan was, I couldn't help becoming irrationally excited and happy from hearing it.

"Do you want your daughter to see you arrested and carted off for the Kiss?" Remus questioned in his patented I-Know-Best tone, the one he always used when talking me and Dad out of our crazy schemes, "Because that's what's going to happen, Padfoot, and I really don't think Stella could handle it."

I had to agree, but... but I wanted to see him so badly...

"_I'm so close though, Moony,_" Daddy argued fervently, "_I won't put her or myself in any danger! I'll stay transformed, and we could meet in this nice little park just a bit down the lane... I... __please,__ you don't understand what this is like! I want her in my arms so badly it hurts!_"

Remus was quiet for a few moments before stating, "You're right, I don't know how you feel. If it's anything like what I went through during those months she was missing, then I'm truly sorry for the pain you're in. But you can't let that cloud your judgment. You need to promise me that you'll stay away until it's safe."

"_I'm not promising anything,_" My dad stubbornly replied, "_I'm not going to put Stella in danger, but if I get a chance to see her, I'm taking it._"

Remus sighed heavily. "I suppose I can't expect anything less," He remarked, worried but still vaguely fond, "Where are you staying? Do you need supplies?"

I held my breath.

"_I'm alright,_" Dad answered, "_I've got a nice spot under the bleachers in Falcon Stadium. It's warm and there's plenty of food._"

I didn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation. Silently praying that I wouldn't trip and draw attention to myself, I moved away from the door and gathered up my wand and broom before escaping out the bedroom window. I headed southwest against the wind.

xxXxx

About halfway to Falmouth, I began to shiver despite the fact that my face was hot to touch. It wasn't exactly a brilliant idea of mine to fly without at least three layers in the dead of winter, after just having been sick, no less. But I've always had a tendency towards single mindedness when something like the possibility of finally being able to see my dad comes up. I ignored my symptoms and pressed on.

To ensure I wasn't followed, I ducked into a forest just before dusk and transfigured a dummy of myself on broomstick out of some treebranches. It was not a very good likeness and I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to give it lifelike movements with so little time to work. But it was a passable representation. A person would have to be fairly close or be watching it for a long time to notice that it wasn't really me. And I only needed a brief window in which to escape any followers I may have had.

I set the dummy west into the setting sun, waited a half hour, and then continued on my way to Falmouth, flying low through the trees until I reached the end of the small forest. Sneezing and trembling like mad, I was fairly confident that I wasn't being followed, but I still took a few more precautions. I landed in a town near Bodmin Moor and took a detour through a shopping center, ducking through a large crowd and using the diversion in order to glamour myself into a redhead with a prominent chin, as well as change the color of my leather jacket from black to green. The magic didn't last long but it lasted long enough for me to exit the mall and get back into the sky without having to worry about anyone following.

Still, I made one more stop. Back to my own appearance, I set down near a muggle library and went inside, quickly creating another dummy of myself to sit in a secluded corner pretending to read. It would disintegrate back into a pile of books after an hour. I slipped out through the back, my hair black and stringy and my skin dark.

About three hours after I left the Burrow, I finally arrived in Falmouth, at the Falcon Stadium where the pro quidditch team plays. They were having a game against the Appleby Arrows that night so I changed myself to a brunette, bought a ticket, and slipped in with a large crowd.

I was coughing by that time, deep, rattling ones that shook my whole chest. My face was flushed and it was taking a great deal of concentration in order to keep my glamour in place. Still, I would not be deterred from my mission.

I waited until the first time the Falcons' seeker made a dive going after the snitch. The crowd rose to their feet in excitement and, while everyone was distracted, I quietly slipped through the slats of the bleachers. It was a rather large drop to the ground. My seat sort of sucked. Had it not been for a hasty cushioning charm, I surely would have died upon impact. As it was, I landed on a moderately soft area of dirt, seeing stars and cursing the fact that I hadn't been allowed to bring my broomstick into the stadium. A few crazies trying to join in the pro games ruined it for everyone.

But then there I was, under the bleachers in Falcon Stadium. My dad had to be somewhere close so I started on a slow lap, watching carefully for any signs of movement from the shadows. After a few long minutes of walking, I saw the faint outline of a man standing in the dark up ahead. "Daddy!" I whispered, rushing towards him.

Remus stepped out of the shadow. My heart sank. I barely realized that I'd stopped moving, standing dumbly in front of my godfather.

"Stella," He said gently, taking a step forward, opening his arms to catch me as my knees gave out.

I started to sob.

"I'm sorry," He murmured, petting my hair and pressing kisses against my temple, "I'm so sorry."

xxXxx

When Remus found my bed empty, he figured out that I must've overheard the conversation he and my dad had been having. He called my dad right back, lied and told his friend that his position had been compromised, that he needed to move on. And my dad did. Remus went to Falmouth to wait for me to arrive. All my ridiculous cloak and dagger shit made him have to wait for several hours but my godfather had never been one to complain about such things.

As soon as I was reasonably calm, he got around to noticing that my fever was back, that I was coughing and sneezing and all around miserable. He raced me to the Burrow, seeing to it that I was tucked into a warm bed and assaulted with all sorts of nasty potions that were supposedly good for me. I didn't care too much. I just felt sad. hopeless. alone.

I felt dumb feeling alone, especially with Remus and Mrs. Weasley doting over me, Mr. Weasley trying to cheer me up with plugs, Tonks dropping by just to chat, and several letters arriving from Fred all in the course of a few minutes. Still. Surrounded by all those people who loved me, I just wanted my daddy. I didn't understand why he hadn't been there...

The renewed bout of illness was not as bad as the first wave I suffered. I was mostly better after another day and a half in bed but Mrs. Weasley kept me confined for three. Remus refused to answer my questions about my dad for the first two.

"But why wasn't he there?" I pestered, sulking and hardly paying attention to the half-hearted game of wizard chess in which my godfather and I were embroiled, "I don't understand. I heard him say that he was there."

"I've explained this already, Stella," He replied, unable to meet my eyes, which was how I knew he wasn't being truthful, "It was a code phrase. We used to use them all the time when we were in Hogwarts to plan pranks and this situation bodes itself well to a return to those old habits."

I pouted, "Knight to B-3. It didn't sound like Daddy was talking in code. It sounded like he was just telling you where he was."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" Remus lied rather badly, "The code isn't very good if it isn't subtle. Bishop to F-5."

I stared across at the old man for a few long moments, taking in his diverted gaze and hunched shoulders. "I don't believe you," I angrily accussed, "You told him to leave. I know you did."

Remus finally looked up, meeting my blue eyes with his brown ones. He sighed heavily. "Yes," He admitted, "I did. I'm sorry, Stella. But it's not safe for you to be seen together."

"I was careful!" I shouted, moving the chessboard rather ungently to the bedside table, "I made sure no one followed me and I wouldn't have let anything happen to him! It wouldn't have done any harm just to let me see him!"

"It could have done a lot of harm," Remus argued sternly, "You had no way of guaranteeing it was a safe place. You could have been seen or captured or killed and I'm not about to let you throw your life away just because you can't be patient."

"I haven't seen my father in fourteen years!!" I yelled, "The time for patience is long past!!"

"The present is always a time for caution," My godfather sagely replied, unaffected by my anger, "You've waited fourteen years and that isn't fair, but mistakes now could take your father from you forever."

And, just like that, I was terrified. Tears filled my eyes and, hard as I tried, I couldn't keep them from bubbling over.

Remus drew me into his steady embrace, allowing me to cry all over him for the second time in about as many days.

"I wasn't try to put him in danger," I blubbered, "I-I didn't mean to."

"I know that, darling girl," Remus replied, voice soft and understanding, "And I'm sorry you can't see you father. I'm doing my best to bring him back to you."

I sniffled, moping, "You're taking too long... I want to help."

Of course, he gave the standard line of reasoning for why I could not: "You're too young."

"I'm nearly sixteen," I argued stubbornly, "Just because I'm not ancient doesn't mean I can't help. I'm probably smarter than whoever else you've got working with you."

My godfather chuckled. "That may be," He stated, rocking me softly, "But you're still too young. You just get well and catch up on your school work and be with your friends. Let me worry about the rest."

I opened my mouth to argue but he cut me off, sighing in exasperation as he offered, "I'll make you a deal, alright? Give me another month. If I haven't found a way, then I'll let you help."

"A whole month?" I complained, secretly elated, "How about a week?"

"Did I give the impression that this was something that could be negotiated?" He responded, vaguely teasing as he arched a tawny eyebrow.

I pouted, "Mean old man."

xxXxx

I started a countdown calendar for the month that I'd promised Remus. After Mrs. Weasley let me out of bed, I made an appointment with Ozzy for the photoshoot to take place the following week, an appointment with my shrink for the following day, and then decided to pop in at Hogwarts to visit the twins. They were several days into a new term and, based on past years, I was fairly certain they would be in the mood for a bit of mayhem.

After flooing into Hogsmeade, I took a secret passage into the castle and wandered around until I found them. It was mid-morning so they were in class, not even trying to stay awake through History of Magic. Fighting down giggles with a hand clasped tightly over my mouth, I peeked around the corner of the doorway to watch them in the back row. Fred was slumped forward in his desk, drooling a puddle; beside him, George was sprawled backwards, neck bent at an awkward angle and mouth hanging open as he snored quite comically.

They were adorable.

And I couldn't resist.

"_FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!!_" I shouted furiously, spelling my voice to sound deep, and like it was coming from all throughout the room, "_REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE!!_"

Startled by the booming and never-before-encountered speaker system, the class jerked awake; a select few toppled straight out of their chairs. Because it was apparently my lucky day, Fred and George were both among them, cursing furiously as they landed in a heap on the floor.

"Well, er..." Binns stated blankly, also seeming surprised by the strange new announcement charm, "I think you'd better do what he said, Weasleys."

Somber, quite clearly racking their brains for what they could have possibly done in the last few days to warrant such a summons, the twins pulled themselves up, brushed themselves off, gathered their things, and tromped out of the room.

I let them walk a bit down the hall before I snuck up and took a flying leap onto Fred's back. "How are my two favorite coppertops doing on this fine day?" I chirped, kissing Fred's neck and grinning when I felt him shiver.

"OY! Stella!" George laughed, "That was you? Damnit, woman! I was about ready to piss meself!"

"TMI, Georgie Porgie," I giggled, "And I couldn't help it! Any longer stuck in that class and you both surely would have slipped into irreversible boredom comas! What kind of friend would I be if I allowed such a thing to happen?"

Fred beamed at me over his shoulder, stating, "Hello."

I grinned back, coyly answering, "Hi."

We both had it bad.

"Would you like to come round to my front so that I can greet you properly?" The boy asked with a suggestive waggle of his ginger eyebrows, caressing my calves where they were wrapped around his middle.

"Nuh uh," I sighed, holding on tigher, "You've got a very comfortable back."

"Puke," George remarked flatly, "Are you two going to be this gushy all the time? 'Coz if you are, then I'm going to start holding auditions for new best friends."

"We are not _gushy_," Fred sniffed, sounding quite offended.

"Besides," I laughed, "You'd never find a pair of best friends quite as good as us. We are simply astounding in every way imaginable."

George sighed theatrically. "I suppose," He said, "But that means I'm doomed to be the third wheel for all eternity."

"You could always get your own girlfriend," Fred suggested helpfully.

"Who said I was your girlfriend?" I teased, tickling his sides.

The lech turned to grin at me, taunting, "Who said I was talking about you?"

"OY!!" I shrieked, swatting him on the shoulder while he laughed uproariously, "Fine then! You just blew it, mister!"

"Aw, come on, Stel," He whined, still unable to get himself to stop snickering even while he tried to wrestle me into staying latched onto him, "I was kidding! You're the only girl for me."

"Damn well better be," I huffed, ruining the pouty mood by giving up my bid for escape and cuddling further into Fred's warm, strong back, "What do you boys want to do today?"

They shared one of those Significant Looks that I absolutely hate, communicating wordlessly in the freaky way twins do. Before I could get too annoyed, George brightly suggested, "We could nick an early lunch from the kitchens and have a picnic by the lake."

I shook my head, arguing, "It's too cold out for that. I've got a feeling your mum is going to have me chained down to the bed if I manage to get myself sick again."

"And no one's allowed to chain you anywhere but me," Fred agreed, again grinning lecherously over his shoulder and waggling his eyebrows, "And certainly not for such noble reasons... though I have to say that I wouldn't complain about coming home to find you in such a state."

"I'll have to remember that," I teased, my voice low and seductive, "Perhaps for the next time you've done something _very good_ and need to be rewarded generously."

"I'd like to reiterate my early complaint concerning this gross flirty thing you two are so insistent upon doing in my presence," George butted in, only half serious, "At least focus long enough for us to decide on a plan."

"Sorry, Georgie," I cooed, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek, "Early lunch sounds splendid. Why don't we just eat in the Room of Requirement?"

"I'm in," Fred eagerly agreed, beaming at his brother, "Mind getting the food, Gred? Me and Stella will ready the room."

He rolled his eyes, stalking off as he good-naturedly grumbled, "If it'll save me from your googling and sweet nothings. You'd just better be fully dressed by the time I get back..." The redhead stopped for a moment, smiling brightly at me as he amended, "Well, actually, _you_ shouldn't feel any need to stay clothed on my account, Stel. I wouldn't mind. Not in the least."

"Nice try, mate," I laughed, shooing him away towards the kitchens, "I admire your spirit. Now get me a sandwich while I molest your brother."

He huffed, trekking off and grumbling, "No fair. I want to get molested, too."

xxXxx

No molestation really occurred, though I had intended to work up a bit of an appetite by making out with Fred. But, instead, we got to the Room of Requirement to find that it was already occupied.

Of course, we didn't notice that right away. Fred and I were already inside, giggling happily over a joke while I laid kisses against the back of his neck. The room looked like the Gryffindor Commons so we didn't see that anything was amiss as he dumped me down into a squashy red sofa. The burly redhead flopped on top of me, attacking me with tickles as he pressed his lips to mine for a long, tender kiss. Both our sets of hands wandered experimentally.

We heard an uncomfortable cough.

We both looked up, though didn't bother breaking apart, and we saw my little godbrother staring at us awkwardly from the other side of the room, his little golden egg thingie situated snugly in his lap. "Er," He greeted, "Hello."

"'Sup, boy wonder?" I teased, only a little cruelly as I was on my way to but had not yet fully gotten over his betrayals and hurtful words, "Interesting little fuck toy... do you go in it or does it go in you?"

I felt rather than saw Fred blush as I watched Harry turn bright, bright red. "It's my clue," The bespectacled lad pitifully defended, "For the next challenge."

"Fascinating," I chirped, making sure to sound utterly bored, "Why don't you scamper off and find elsewhere to play with the fuck toy? Us grownups need the room."

Looking tragically sad and embarrassed, the boy did just that, throwing one last mournful pout in my direction as he left. "I'm sorry, Stel," He whispered. I pretended not to hear.

When he was gone, Fred gave a deep sigh and rolled off of me, sitting up and running his fingers through his shaggy ginger hair. I frowned, wondering what was wrong.

"Not that I don't enjoy watching you torment Harry," Fred began with a disarming smile, "But how much longer are you going to?"

"As long as I damn well feel like it," I replied angrily, "For as long as he tortured me and maybe thensome. Why? Have you got a problem?"

He stared at me with his big blue eyes all wide and soulful, the manipulative bastard, and stated, "It's just... you love Harry."

Sighing, I leaned my head against his shoulder. He put his arms around me and held me tight.

"I do love Harry," I murmured, choking down a lump in my throat, "But... he was cruel to me. And it hurt so much... I want to forgive him but I don't know if I can. And maybe I was hoping that being mean to him would make it easier. You know, an eye for an eye?"

"I believe the second half of that saying goes 'makes the whole world blind,'" Fred chuckled, pressing his lips to my temple, "Don't want to see you blinded, love."

After thinking hard for a few long moments, I answered, "He's still a horrid little shithead."

"Agreed," Fred laughed, "But he's _your_ horrid little shithead, and he's sorry, Stel. If you want anything more from him, it'd be unfair not to at least say what before you keep on torturing the lad."

I laughed breathlessly, stating, "You are wise beyond your years, Mr. Weasley."

"Thank you, Miss Black," He replied happily, "Your regard means the world to me."

We sat in silence for a few long moments before he tentatively ventured, "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

A little blindsided, as well as confused, I answered, "Um, ya, of course... any particular reason behind that completely random question?"

He grinned sweetly, "I worry."

"Goofy bastard," I laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek just as the door swung open and the other half of the goofy bastard duo arrived with our lunch. "Hands where I can see 'em," George demanded, stumbling clumsily into the room.

"Your eyes are closed," His brother pointed out, "You can't see a bloody thing."

"It's a defense mechanism," George retorted, banging his shin on a low table, "_Ouch_! I don't want to have to witness any physical manifestations of your flirting... so is it safe yet?"

Rolling my eyes, I snapped, "Yes, you big baby. Merlin, you act like you caught us screwing on your stomach."

George finally opened his eyes and both twins stared at me like I'd grown a third head. "Take a joke, boys," I laughed, relieving George of a plate of sandwiches.

We settled in for a nice, quiet lunch, chatting lightly about pretty much nothing but mostly just stuffing our faces. Both twins were staring at me a bit more than usual and it was making me slightly nervous.

After a little while, George made a big show of swallowing his last bite and smiling sweetly at me. "So, Stel," He began, "Anything _you'd_ like to talk about? You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

I stopped chewing and narrowed my eyes at the both of them. "Ok, what's going on?" I demanded suspiciously.

Wielding a pair of mirror-image innocent faces, the twins chirped, "Nothing."

"People don't remind other people that they can talk to them about anything unless they've already got a topic in mind and are more scared than they are nosy to just bring it up directly," I argued sensibly, "Since both of you have reminded me that I can talk to you about anything in the last ten minutes, I've got to think that you've got a topic. So what is it?"

They squirmed uncomfortably for awhile, stammering and stuttering and sharing a whole conversation worth of Significant Looks. I barely managed to keep my rising anger under control until Fred finally answered, "We, um... we were just worried about... how you were handling the situation with your dad."

"Ya!" George eagerly contributed, "You rushed off to see him and got your hopes up and he wasn't there and we just wanted to make sure you were alright with it and if you wanted to talk to us then that would be great because we're awesome at advice and stuff."

He babbles when he lies.

"You babble when you lie," I spat venomously, folding my arms across my chest and glaring at the both of them, "Tell me what's really going on right now!"

"It's the truth, Stel," Fred defended, putting his hand on my shoulder and kneading softly, "We know it must be hard not being able to see your dad and we don't want you to hold in what you're feeling. We want you to be able to tell us and... and not end up hurt again."

My anger softened. I still felt _so_ guilty over all I'd put my friends through and there they were, just worried about me again, and I couldn't do find the will to deny them this little piece of mind that they were asking for. "It's hard not being allowed to see him," I murmured softly, leaning against Fred's shoulder and letting both twins put their arms around me, "I was really let down when I thought... but I'm doing alright. I'm not bad like I used to be. You don't have to worry too much."

"That's our job," George countered proudly, giving me a tender squeeze, "Now, come on. Give us a bit more to work with... go back to the beginning if you need to. I mean, we've talked it before, but you didn't go into too much detail and we didn't want to push you but it might help. We know about how you were feeling in Hogwarts during those months, and some of your time in the hospital, but then we've kind of got a bit of an information gap until you went to Africa. That was about the time that your dad escaped so maybe you should start there, you know?"

Claire's death and the moments leading up to it immediately flashed through my mind. I turned my gaze to the floor and fought back tears as I hotly insisted, "I don't want to talk about that."

Fred gently prodded, "Stella-"

"I said I don't want to talk about that!" I shouted, shoving their arms off me, "Just drop it!"

"Why are so you so upset?" George continued on, hardly seeming like he'd heard my order, "Did something happen then? You should tell us, Stel. Get it off your chest and you'll feel a lot better."

"There's nothing to tell!!" I insisted, pushing myself abruptly up from the couch and storming out of the room without a backwards glance.

xxXxx

I think they must have chased me but, after sprinting frantically through a maze of hidden passages, I found myself alone near the library. At that time of day, the corridor was deserted so I took a moment to catch my breath, collapsing on the floor and gasping hard.

I was focusing all my energy on _not_ crying. It would have been more than easy let it happen. I kept thinking about Claire, what she did to me and what I did to her. I couldn't tear my mind away from that night and it was like I was back there. My eyes were shut tight but I just kept seeing it, over and over, and I tried and tried and tried and failed to catch my breath, to hold back the anger and fear and shame. A band of panic was constricting my chest, making it harder rather than easier to draw in air.

I was _so_ dizzy, sick to my stomach and close to passing out. It probably would have been a good thing, saving me from myself and whatnot. However, I felt warm hands on my shoulders and struggled to hear someone shouting my name past the droning in my oxygen-starved head.

_"Stella? Stella, come on, __talk__ to me! What's wrong? Are you hurt?"_

I couldn't answer and couldn't breathe and all I could see was the orgasmic expression on Claire's face while she was raping me, the confusion and betrayal as I pushed her away, as she fell and bashed her head, and then that blankness and hurt in the second she passed from living to dead...

_"Stella! Stella, you need to breathe! Cho, go get the nurse! Stella! Stella!"_

Behind my closed eyes, the world grew darker and then slipped away in the space of a second.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That's all for now, sports fans! Sorry about the delay. School is, as always, a bitch. Review are like chocolate but fat free so, in fact, superior.


	17. Horoscope

Part 17 - Horoscope

Waking to find both twins hovering about an inch from my face is always a sign that something has gone terribly wrong. I blinked up at their worried expressions, not quite remembering how I landed myself in the hospital wing but knowing that it must have been something bad based on the boys' expressions of fear and frantic concern.

"Stella," Fred began cautiously, reaching out to smooth my choppy bangs out of my eyes, "Are you alright, love?"

"Think so," I sighed, feeling my head swim and my chest ache, still unable to remember why, "What happened?"

Looking... guilty, George answered, "Madame P said it was a panic attack."

"Remus is on his way," Fred contributed, voice quiet and hand shaking almost imperceptibly, "As soon as Madame P clears you, he wants to take you to see Dr. Fairchild."

"Lucky me," I groaned, huffing at the thought of having a session with the shrink. I did like him a lot better than my other ones, but some days I just didn't have the energy. That day was one of them.

Like a flash, I remembered the moments leading up to my panic attack, the twins' interrogation and how I freaked out about it, collapsing in the hall outside the library. My face grew hot with shame and I tried not to meet their eyes; I wanted nothing more than for my best friends to never know what had been done to me. what I'd done...

It was then that I noticed two extra bodies in the room, Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang seated anxiously in rickety chairs against the far wall. I picked my head up off the pillow to give them both a wan smile. "My heroes," I joked, because I was piecing together my broken, frantic memories and they must've been the ones who found me outside the library. Besides, talking to the couple gave me an excuse not to look at the twins. "I'll have to remember to send out muffin baskets," I went on, drawing relieved smiles out of the young man and woman, "Do you fancy banana-nut or blueberry? Or perhaps some nice bran?"

"I'm happy to see your sense of humor made it through intact," Cedric replied with a grin, he and Cho standing with their hands linked sweetly and making their way closer to the end of my bed, "You had us quite worried there, turning blue and passing out and all."

"Must've been something I ate," I stated, dismissing the diagnosis that I knew they'd both heard, "There's some bad yogurt circulating. The public should be cautioned."

Cho gave a high, twittering giggle. "Cedric told me you were funny," She remarked with a friendly smile, "I see that he was right... it's nice to meet you, Stella. I'm Cho."

"Charmed," I answered pleasantly, a little disturbed that the girl was being so nice. I had very little experience with kindness from the students of Hogwarts and, when it did happen, my initial reaction tended to be one of suspicion.

Still feeling rather shitty, I forced myself to sit up, to swing my feet out of the bed. I would have made an effort to stand, but Fred was right there and ready to stop me. "Take it easy, Stel," He said, hand on my shoulders and holding me firmly in place, "You should relax until Madame P has a chance to examine you."

"I feel fine," I snapped, brushing his hands away, still unable to meet his sad blue eyes, "I'm not a damn invalid."

I could tell without looking that I'd hurt him with the sharp rebuff and felt guilty as hell on top of everything else.

xxXxx

Remus arrived about a half hour later. He fussed. I remained uncooperative and snarky. It's part of my undeniable allure.

I said goodbye without meeting anyone's eyes.

And then I was at the shrink's office. I didn't sit down.

My chest still ached. My head felt like it was weighing me down to the ground. But, no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't sit. Sitting would mean that it was time to talk.

"What's on your mind, Stella?" Dr. Fairchild questioned; as always, his voice was gentle and coaxing.

I bristled and jokingly responded, "Same old, same old, Doc. What's new with you?"

He watched me pace for a few moments, expression blank. "We're not here to talk about me, Stella," The old man stated, "We're here to talk about what happened this afternoon while you were at Hogwarts."

I fidgeted with the zippers on my jacket.

"The nurse said it was a panic attack?" He went on, sort of questioning but not really because we both knew that he knew the answer. Damn shrinks and their tricky mind games.

"She says a lot of things," I snapped hotly, losing track of where I was pacing and banging my toe on the leg of the coffee table.

"OW!! SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!!" I shrieked, hopping around stupidly for a few moments before flopping to the floor.

My toe didn't really hurt that much but it was just the last straw. Cradling the bruised digit, I burst into tears.

Fairchild carefully helped me into one of the squashy armchairs and inspected my toe. "It's not broken," He reported over my sobs, his thin lips tense behind his graying push-broom moustache.

I curled both my legs into my chest, hugging them tightly and bawling my eyes out.

The doctor went back to his own seat. "Stella," He demanded gently, "I'd like you to tell me about what happened today."

Choking down tears, I wiped my eyes and hoarsely admitted, "Fred and George... t-they wanted to know what happened to me, too... they asked about the night Claire and me broke out of the whack-shack."

Fighting back a smirk over my colorful wording, Fairchild asked, "And why did that upset you?"

I whimpered, "They... I-I can't."

"You can," The doctor insisted, "You can tell me. You can admit what happened and you can begin to deal with it."

I shook my head. "It was... It was _wrong_," I said, "It was my fault."

"Killing Claire?" The doctor pressed.

Wincing, I averted my eyes and agreed, "Yes. I killed her."

He leafed through some papers he had handy, observing, "Your file says you claimed that was an accident."

"It was," I muttered, picking compulsively at my nail beds, "I pushed her. She fell and hit her head."

The doctor paused, seeming to be gauging me before he asked, "And why did you push her?"

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Stella," He repeated, calm and understanding, "Why did you push Claire?"

With my forehead pressed against my knees, I softly admitted, "S-She wouldn't get off me... she was doing things to me and I told her no but she wouldn't get off."

"What was she doing?" Dr. Fairchild pushed.

Exhausted, disgusted, I screamed, "Touching me! She was touching me! I didn't want her to and she wouldn't _STOP_!!"

xxXxx

We were in the office for six grueling hours while the doctor coaxed the story out of me and then picked up the pieces. I spent most of the session alternately sobbing like a baby and raging like a wounded lion.

But I left feeling... not really better but... lighter. Calmer.

And at least Remus stopped looking at me like I was a time bomb ticking down through its last ten seconds.

He seemed to be giving me the leeway of a minute or so.

He took me out to dinner. Nothing fancy, just some burgers in London because he knew that I was fond of them. And it was just the two of us again, like old times. So that was fun. I love my godfather like crazy and spending some quality time with him was long overdue.

We talked a little about what upset me at Hogwarts, though I still couldn't make myself give any details. He could respect my reluctance to tell him, he said--just like that because he was always an absurdly smart and well-spoken man--as long as I was talking to my shrink and getting things off my chest and working towards making myself healthy.

He pulled me into a hug, and I squeezed him back so hard I was afraid his old bones would break.

We kept talking. Remus asked about my modeling gig. I told him that I had the appointment set with Ozzy for the following week. Remus asked about how I was doing with Harry and with the twins. I couldn't report too much good news on the Harry front but at least, I said, I was trying to force myself to make an effort towards forgiving the jerk. I said that the twins were fine. Acting a little strange, but strange is normal when you're dealing with Double Trouble.

It was late by the time we made it back to the Burrow. Remus saw me inside and said brief hellos to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before going home to his own tiny flat. With Bill having returned to Egypt, it was just Molly and Arthur and me in the house. That was fine. They were good company, if a bit overbearing. Molly just about frog-marched me up to bed, proclaiming that I needed my rest.

Another week passed quickly. The twins wrote and pestered, but I asked them for some space while I dealt and they respected that. I went to see Dr. Fairchild another three times. We talked a little bit more about Claire. The doc was trying to convince me that I wasn't to blame for what happened, but I knew that I was. He wanted me to talk to a rape counselor, go to group therapy sessions, but I didn't. I never did.

On the grey morning of Tuesday, January 19th, 1995, I flooed to Ozzy's spacious London studio for my photo shoot.

"Hey there, gorgeous," He greeted me with a bright hug and kiss, "How are you feeling today? Especially sexy, I'm hoping?"

"I feel especially sexy every day, Oz," I replied with a bright laugh, flicking my shaggy hair out of my eyes, "That's the joy of being me."

"Fantastic," He laughed, "Let's get to work then!"

Modeling was fun. I got to try on all sorts of pretty outfits and prance around for the camera. Piece of cake. Me and Ozzy joked around the whole time, talking about this and that. We capped off the long afternoon with trying to come up with a cool stage name for me. Because I didn't think it was wise to be credited as Stella Black. I was a little too infamous already.

"If you want to go classical, I've always loved Artemisia, like the painter," Ozzy suggested, snapping away with his camera. It had been attached to his eye for so long that I was beginning to forget what the man looked like without the contraption.

"Rather a mouthful, isn't it?" I laughed, pouting sexily and trying not to let my boobs flop out of a strange dressrobe-tubedress combination. It wasn't one of my favorite numbers. "I think I'd like something a bit simpler..."

Smirking, Ozzy tried, "Penny Candy?"

"Said _simpler_, not _stripper_," I retorted with a theatrical huff, flopping back into the mound of lush cushions on which I was propped.

Ozzy made an excited noise and changed his angle, growling something that could've been, "Don't move."

"Jesus, Oz," I continued with my comment, remaining motionless in order to sate whatever artistic bent in which the man had found himself wrapped, "Thought you were running a respectable operation here."

"Well, don't tell Aunt Jenny," he responded, grinning slyly, "But my operation certainly wasn't always so respectable. I did shoot a tiny bit of porn very early in my career."

I started laughing so hard that I was sure I was going to pee myself.

Ozzy just kept taking pictures, not upset that I'd moved because, as much as he growled, he really never was. "You've got such a nice smile," he observed, suddenly detaching the camera from his face and shooting me an excited grin, "I really hope you'll model for me again."

"I suppose I could be persuaded," I snickered, "As long as it's not for porn."

"That was a long time ago," the young man defended, pouting only slightly, "And I certainly know better than to ask a fifteen-year-old girl to pose nude. Last thing I need is to end up on a sex offender list. Anyways, get back to picking your name and try to look... wistful."

That was not hard when, moments later, I decided on a perfect stage name. "Leda," I declared, turning and staring out a wide window, "It was my mum's name."

Ozzy briefly lowered his camera. "Sounds perfect," he commented, seeming to have decided my far-off gaze was not to be wasted and going back to capturing it on film, "Last name?"

Since _Leda_ would honor my mum, it seemed only fitting that the last name would honor my dad. "Chiot," I decided with a smirk.

"Shee-O?" Ozzy inquired, slightly confused.

"It's French," I replied, glancing back at my photographer, his neatly parted dark hair and stylish mauve sweater, "C-H-I-O-T. It's means 'puppy.'"

He smiled wide, stating, "Leda Chiot. I think I like it. It suits you."

"Ya," I agreed, laughing and turning onto my side, tugging on the neckline of the tube-dressrobes, "I think it does. Now that that's decided, can I put on another outfit?"

"Sure," Ozzy said, setting down his camera and coming to give me a hand up, "How about the long pale blue one with the strappy back? It's gorgeous with your eyes." His whole face lit up. He shoved his glasses a little higher up on his aquiline nose as he suggested, "There's a nice park down the street. What do you say to a doing a few outdoor shots? By the fountains? Or the lakeside, maybe?"

"Sweet," I beamed, jogging off towards the dressing room, "Be right back."

xxXxx

The catalogue was all set to come out a little under two weeks later on January 29th. Three days before, I got a whole bunch of advance copies to share with family and friends. I took three with me to Hogwarts. Two were for the twins (because I know how much they really don't 

like to share) and the third was for my dad. Of course, to get it to him, I was going to have to go through Harry.

I still didn't want to deal with him though, so I took a passageway into Gryffindor tower while I thought he should've been in class. I rifled through his things until I found a piece of parchment that looked like it was important. Then I scribbled on it:

_Dear Loser,  
Send this to Padfoot.  
Love,  
The Most Awesome Friend You Wish You Had._

I put the catalogue and the note down on Harry's bed and was turning to leave, but the little jerk chose that exact moment to show up in the door way. His mouth dropped open. The sandwich he was holding dropped to the floor. "Stella," he said, startled, guardedly hopeful, "What... what are doing here?"

"Got a package for Padfoot," I replied, crossing my arms and nodding towards the items on Harry's bed, "Thought the least you could do was be a good little messenger boy."

"Of course!" he agreed eagerly, stooping to salvage his sandwich, "I'll send him anything you want. Any time, ok?"

"Peachy," I chimed. And then we stood in awkward silence for much longer than I generally like. "Well, this was fun," I finally added, all bright and chipper, "Good catching up. I'll be going now."

"Wait, just..." Harry argued, fidgeting in the doorway, in my way, "Can we talk for a minute?"

I raised a skeptical eyebrow, questioning, "And what exactly would we have to talk about, boy wonder?"

"Um," he mumbled, "How much of an idiot I am?"

Despite the fact that I was still rather angry with my little godbrother, that comment scored him some points. I cracked up, taking a seat on the end of Ron's bed and stating, "Alright, but only because that's a favorite topic of mine." I nodded for him to come and sit across from me.

He did, still visibly nervous. His green eyes were huge and scared, like I was going to choose to physically assault him at any moment. I don't know where he got such an idea. I mean, the worst I'd ever done to him was stab him in the thigh with a fork, and that was at the height of my craziness. And he totally had it coming.

"So?" I asked expectantly.

"Right," Harry replied, clearing his throat, "I know I've already said I'm sorry, but I just wanted to say it again." He stared across at me, all sorrowful and heartfelt. "I'm _so_ sorry for how I treated you, Stel. No matter what was going on, you didn't deserve any of it, not from me or from anyone else. You'd never been anything but good to me, and I'm sorry I was cruel to you and that I didn't believe you and... I know there's probably nothing I can do to make it up to you, but I will do _anything_ for another shot at... at being your friend."

I fixed him with a stern look, raising an eyebrow. "Really?" I questioned, "Would you... quack like a duck?"

Harry did the most hilarious double-take I had ever seen, gaping, "What?"

"Would you quack like a duck?" I repeated, having a rather hard time keeping a straight face because the whole situation was way too priceless and he'd just totally walked into it. I peered across at him, waiting.

He stared at me for a long few moments, still trying to determine whether or not I was serious. "Quack," he finally coughed, awkward and self-conscious, "Quack."

"You don't just _say_ 'quack'," I criticized, rolling my eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You actually have to make a duck sound."

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bed, coughing again and finally quacking, "_Qua-qua_."

"Now flap your arms," I commanded, doing my very, very best not to so much as crack a smirk. It was very, very hard.

Turning a rather adorable shade of pink, Harry began to flap his arms up and down like wings, sounding off, "_Qua-qua. Qua-qua_."

"Hop up and down on one foot," I said.

And he did it, standing and jumping and wobbling, flapping his arms and quacking, "_Qua-qua. Qua-qua_." He looked, quite frankly, absolutely ridiculous.

"Spin around!" I commanded, enjoying myself immensely. There certainly was an upside to the boy's guilt.

Harry spun and hopped and flapped and quacked, "_Qua-qua_."

And then Ron appeared in the doorway, and it was the expression on _his_ face that made me finally lose control of my hysterical laughter. I cracked the fuck up, ending up falling onto my side, curling in on myself on top of Ron's bed and just _laughing_.

I laughed for... probably about five minutes straight. I almost had control of myself again, but then I looked up and saw that Harry hadn't stopped spinning and hopping and flapping and quacking, that Ron was still standing in the doorway looking completely dumbfounded, not to mention severely worried about the sanity of everyone in the room.

"Oh god," I gasped, ten minutes later, after I finally regained control yet again and Harry had _finally_ stopped his ridiculous act. "I may need to lie down after that," I giggled, wiping the tears of laughter out of my eyes as I stood.

I walked past Harry, smirking at his expectant, hopeful expression. "You have amused me," I snickered, patting him on the cheek. I patted him once more, slightly harder. It might've been a slap. Who knows? "You're still an arsehole," I added brightly, "But you have amused me. That earns you three points."

And then I left. As I was trotting down the stairs, I heard, "What? Points? Stel, what does that mean?"

xxXxx

Not really wanting to talk to the twins yet either, I left their copies on their beds and then returned to the Burrow. I wasn't back ten minutes before an owl arrived with a letter for me. Written in George's spiky script, it read:

_Darlingest Stella_

_Thank you for the porn. I don't even mind that it's softcore because you make an absolutely amazing centerfold. How about meeting up with me and the twin tonight for a private autograph signing? Ten o'clock in the Three Broomsticks?_

_Super! See you there!  
Love,  
George._

I laughed, a little nervous about seeing them again after my epic freak out. But I couldn't resist George's craziness. He's always had that effect on me.

So I snuck out again after dark and made my way yet again to Hogsmeade. The twins were already in our usual corner, halfway through a pair of butterbeers. They grinned when they saw me, jumping out of their seats and tackling me into a massive hug.

"Hello to you, too, twinses," I sniggered, feeling good to be back with my best friends.

"Evening, Miss Chiot, if that is your real name," George teased, the first to let go and leave me for his brother to kiss gently, hesitantly.

I smirked against Fred's mouth, humming in contentment and just about melting into his strong arms.

When he finally pulled away, he flashed a charming grin and asked, "Going to let me take you on that date tonight?"

"What about Georgie?" I replied, reaching out to give the other twin's freckled ear a tug, "He wants me to scribble on his porn. I have very sexy penmanship."

Rolling his eyes, Fred declared, "George can amuse himself for a night. We have an understanding."

"Did you agreed to be Official Guinea Pig Bitch again?" I snickered, "Those blue streaks in your hair last time were really cute." I laced my fingers through the silky red locks.

"No," Fred mumbled, blushing a bit, "I just... said I'd let George name our firstborn."

I stared for a few moments and then started laughing. "Getting ahead of yourselves there," I snickered, cuddling up under Fred's chin, "Babies are years and years in the future. And there is no way in hell I'm letting Georgie name any of them."

Laughing breathlessly, Fred held me tighter.

"That's what you think," George huffed, flapping his copy of the catalogue in my face, "I have a legally binding oral contract. Now hurry up and give me an autograph so I can retreat from your disgusting shows of affection."

"Ya, ya," I laughed, turning in Fred's embrace, taking the catalogue and a quill from his brother. "_To Georgie_," I read as I scrawled the words on the cover, "_My number one most perviest fan. Love, Leda Chiot._" I scratched a big star at the end of the sentence, and then handed everything back.

"Wicked," George grinned, ogling as he flipped through the pages, "This'll be worth a lot of money someday, when you're all rich and famous. But I'll never sell it. Because it's special. And mine. And _hot_."

Fred kicked him in the shin.

"Ouch!" George yelped, glaring, "Merlin, a guy can't even appreciate hotness these days." He limped off, still grumbling.

"Have a good night, Georgie," I called after him, still leaning against Fred's chest.

Fred smiled against my neck. "Alone at last," he muttered, kissing me, tightening his grip, "You up for a walk?"

"Mhmm," I hummed, closing my eyes, "Sounds nice. Where to?"

"That," the redhead answered with a bright grin, "Is a surprise. Now let's order some dinner to go."

xxXxx

While Fred had his back turned setting down a picnic blanket on a quiet lakeside slope, I shook the hell out of his butterbeer. Grinning at my own deviousness, I then replaced the bottle 

(being sure to keep track of which one it was) and began amusing myself by taking in the breathtaking view of the castle from the far side of the lake. The broomride across had been quick but nice, mostly done just so Fred could hug me close while he flew so close to the water that we could kick sprays of it up at each other.

"Alright," the redhead declared. With one last flick of his wand, a handful of floating candles sparked to life all around us, glittering off the glassy lake and making our surroundings slightly less ominous. Fred flopped down on the checked blanket and shot me a bright grin, "We're set." His hair was sexily damp.

"Fantastic," I replied, handing him the shaken bottle before I stretched out on my back at his side. I grinned, popping my own drink open and taking a long swig. The hillside was angled just enough for me to do so comfortably, without choking and looking stupid. "So is this charming picnic the surprise?" I questioned, nudging his shoulder, "Or is there more?"

Grinning deviously, the young man put a thick around around me, pulling me snug against him, and cooed, "Oh, there's more. Much, much more. You should prepare yourself to be astounded. And then amazed. And then slightly frightened. And then amazed again. And then probably very turned on." He waggled his ginger eyebrows.

"Really now?" I challenged impishly, "Sounds like some surprise. Are you sure I'm worthy of such awesomeness?"

He flinched, turning towards me and suddenly looking very serious. "Always, Stel," he murmured, reaching across to sweep my bangs away from my eyes.

"Joke, Freddie," I sighed, regretting the comment, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"You really have no idea how amazing you are, do you?" he continued, acting like I hadn't spoken. He pressed his cheek against mine, whispered hot against my ear, "You're brilliant and stunning and funnier than anyone I've ever met. The world became a far greater place the minute you came into it. I could be a king, Stel, a god, and I'd still never deserve you."

"Shut up," I countered, turning away to hide a bit of a furious blush, "If I'm not allowed to be self-deprecating, then you aren't either."

Fred playfully rolled his eyes, a hand finding its way inside my leather jacket and to the small of my back to press us close together. "I just don't get how you don't see it," he complained, his chest rising and falling with a long sigh, "I'm going to have to make it my life's mission to make you. There's no other option."

"I think-" I responded, smiling hesitantly, "I think I could get onboard with that plan."

His grin spread slow, stretching his freckles and plumping up his dimples, making his blue eyes shimmer in the candlelight. His fingers slid in nonsense designs along my back and hip, warm and soft inside my jacket. Fred leaned across, closing the slight space between us and kissing me gently, guiding to me lie down on my back.

We both shivered and held our breaths.

Oh yeah. I could _definitely_ get onboard with his plan.

We stayed just like that for a few long minutes, kissing slow and sweet, touching almost innocently, keeping warm by keeping close.

Because, see, the thing about Fred is that he's just about the nicest, most caring guy in the entire fucking world. People forget, what with the pranks and smartarse mouth, but he really is all heart. He goes out of his way to cheer people up, laughs and prods and offers up hugs where they're needed. And both twins are touchy--Merlin, are they touchy--but Fred likes soft, likes comfort and warmth, giving them and getting them. That's why he piles mounds of pillows and quilts onto his bed and can't sleep unless he's burrowed snug under them, why he always been so fond of running his hands over everything, combing his fingers through my hair, why he's perfectly content to do nothing more than snuggle me close for as long as I'll let him.

But I guess I kept expecting him to push, just a little, for more. Hands lower. Kisses deeper. Bodies closer. Any of it. I didn't not want it but I had to keep expecting so that I could keep psyching myself up for it because... well, I was mostly ok with touching. When I knew it was coming. But since Claire, unexpected contact had been making me flighty and nervous and, in the worst cases, slightly violent. I just didn't want to flinch or freak out or lash out when Fred finally got around to touching me a little more intimately. And I fully thought he would try.

But after awhile, he pulled back, lips puffed up and a little shiny. He stared hard at me, forehead furrowed so that a cute, thoughtful little dimple showed up between his eyebrows. I reached out to smooth it with one deft thumb.

"Are you alright?" Fred asked, one hand flexing gently on my waist, where it had stayed for the duration of our make out session. He had himself propped up on the other elbow, resting it on the blanket near my head.

"I'm fine," I responded, breathing a little heavily while I stared up at his puzzled expression. I let my hands drag from his face to his shoulders to his chest.

"Are you sure?" Fred repeated, fingertips skimming just above the waistband of my denim skirt.

I couldn't help the startled intake of breath or the fine tremor that ran through my body. Suddenly, I realized that I was shaking.

"Cold," I quickly explained, not entirely lying because it was sort of fucking freezing. I smiled weakly.

"Oh," he replied, pulling me closer, trying to shield me inside his robes and fold the picnic blanket around my bare legs. "Should've said so," the redhead grumbled good-naturedly, pressing a slightly scruffy kiss behind my ear, "And worn pants. Not that I'm complaining or anything..."

Giggling, I snuggled into his broad, very warm chest. "Didn't exactly know about this devious plot of yours, now did I?" was my playful reaction, "Speaking of which, I was promised there was a bit more to it."

"I'm getting to that," Fred mouthed into my neck, rearranging us so that we were both on our backs, my head snug on his shoulder and his arms snug around me. "You see up there?" he said, pointing to a small, bright cluster of stars before putting his arm back where it was and waiting expectantly. The boy was grinning and almost giddy with excitement.

"Mhmm," I responded, comfortable and warm, relaxing steadily.

"Those are planets," Fred said, quite pleased with himself for knowing, "Won't bore you with the details, but I happened to have discovered in Divination that tonight they are aligned perfectly for both of us to find our true loves-"

"Little late," I teased, despite the fact that I was quite certain my smile was going to break my face, "Already found mine."

"Didn't let me finish," the young man pouted, his voice a steady rumble vibrating all the way through my body, "They're aligned perfectly for both of us to find our true loves, but, seeing as that's happened, the alignment is also favorable for strengthening bonds already in place, as well as fostering trust and overcoming obstacles that seem unovercomable."

I knew what he was talking about, what he was hinting at. "Not a word," was all I could grumble, willing myself not to breakdown.

"It's ok, Stel," Fred murmured, squeezing me tight once more, bending to press a kiss to the top of my head, "I just mean... I was just going to say that I won't try to push you anymore. That I'm sorry I tried to before and I trust you and I know you're working through a lot of things so it's alright if you don't want to tell me some of them just yet. Don't until you're ready. I'm not going anywhere and I'll wait for as long as you need."

I might've mumbled something about caring bastards who were too sweet and too charming for their own good. Hard to tell with the almost painful knot settling in around my heart.

"Just, you know," Fred went on, "Keep in mind that I love you like crazy and that there's nothing in the world that could change that. And I'm here whenever you need me for anything."

I really didn't know what to say. After a long, speculative pause, during which I very carefully chose my next words and forced down tears, I replied, "Someday, Fred. I promise I'll tell you someday. Just not now. I just- I can't-"

"Shh, love," he soothed, craning to kiss me again, "You don't have to explain. That's more than good enough for me."

We settled quietly, staring up at the stars and our planets as they moved through our favorable alignment. I didn't feel any influences from them, but I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed being with Fred.

"Love you, too," I whispered, feeling his smile through the way his whole body got warm, through the way he pulled mine impossibly closer and breathed a relieved sigh.

Later, his bottle of butterbeer sprayed him in the face, and I laughed until I thought I would be sick.

xxXxx

And, well, when I tell this next part, just keep in mind that I have never possessed very much self-control. I mean, shaking Fred's butterbeer, causing general mayhem of the sort, not being able to keep my mouth shut, they're all symptoms of my lifelong affliction. Remus told me once he thought it was genetic, what with my dad being the same way, not to mention my mum's 

slightly devious streak. So I try not to feel bad about the whole thing because, well, it's not really my fault then, is it? And, honestly, this opportunity was just too good to pass up.

So, anyways, Madame Malkin had this grand unveiling sort of thing for the new line that was being released in the catalogue. It was a pretty swanky dig, and, of course, yours truly was a guest of honor. This big party was at Coven, the exclusive nightclub that Ozzy had taken me to a few times, and I'd harangued the artist himself into being my date for the evening. All manner of wizarding socialite was in attendance.

Since the inside of the club was decorated with moving pictures of me dressed in the robes from the line, I'd chosen to wear a rather lovely silver number, low-cut but floor-length and simple, understated. I looked fucking _hot_ but didn't distract too much from the pictures of me strutting and twirling, posing and pouting, etc. and etc.

I had a pretty great time, getting to meet lots of famous, interesting individuals. A few agents gave me their cards, as did other designers and some skeevy arseholes trolling for a pickup. All night people kept coming up to me, saying how great I looked. It was just starting to get slightly unnerving when _she_ took her turn.

I didn't recognize the woman at first, hadn't seen her in... jeez, probably about ten years. She still had that same pinched look on her face, the just-smelled-shit look that had given her wrinkles she had to cake makeup onto to attempt to hide. "Hello, Miss Chiot," she said, tall and thin and blonde, offering her emaciated hand, "My name is Narcissa Malfoy, and I'd just like to say that you look simply stunning."

I had a brief moment where my confusion, terror, and rage mingled almost painfully. Then I smiled. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Malfoy," I told her, insipid but determined as I shook her hand, "It means so much to me to hear that from someone of such obvious taste. And please, call me Leda."

Actually, her robe was kind of hideous, a pale yellow that made her look jaundice. She beamed and obviously didn't recognize my lie or the fact that I was her cousin's daughter, the one who'd broken her sons arm in three places when I was around six.

It took most of the rest of the night, and a considerable amount of alcohol, but I managed to cozy up to my father's cousin, to bite down my nausea and hate and flatter her from head to foot, to get her to declare that I was a wonderful young woman with a monumentous career ahead of me and that we absolutely _must_ have a lunch date. I eagerly agreed, and the date was set for the following Friday afternoon. The universe was continuing to deliver opportunities for mischief directly into my lap.

xxXxx

But, really, mischief wasn't my only motivator for the lunch date. After my dad was taken to prison, the Ministry seized my parents' assets, including our house and everything in it. My mum never got anything back, but, through some obscure loophole and a whole lot of shady dealings, Dad's family, namely one Narcissa Malfoy, took possession of our possessions, ripping apart the scraps of the tragedy.

Well, one of the things that she took was my dad's desk. He only really used it to stash candy and the childish drawings I made for him regularly. He was always saying how I was a brilliant artist.

He'd mentioned during one of our mirror-talks that he wished he still had those drawings.

Tonks had mentioned that it was likely Narcissa still had the desk in Malfoy Manor.

And that was where I came in.

I really couldn't believe Narcissa didn't realize who I was. I mean, I guess it had been a long time since she'd seen me, but... it was eerie. But to her I wasn't Stella Black. I was Leda Chiot, an up-and-coming model with a likely lucrative career ahead of her.

We had tea in a lacy parlor and were served by a flighty, likely abused house-elf whose constant, compulsive bowing had worn away the tip of her long nose and given her back a large hump.

"You have a beautiful home, Narcissa," I simpered, sickly and awed and for the third time since arriving, "I just can't get over it. I don't think I've _ever_ been anywhere so lovely."

She beamed. That house was her life. She'd spent years filling her boring days filling the cold manor with expensive baubles that were supposed to prove how much her husband loved her. "Thank you very much, Leda," Narcissa replied, pride in her screechy voice, "I'll be sure to give you a tour after lunch. In the meantime, why don't you tell me about yourself?" She blushed. "I'm afraid I don't hold my liquor all that well, and I can't remember much from the night of the party."

That sounded about right. She was _wasted_. If wizards had karaoke, she would've _definitely_ been belting some off-key classic rock ballads.

"There's not very much to tell," I answered sweetly, "I'm an only child, and both my parents died when I was very small. I lived in boarding schools for most of my life. I attended Beauxbatons when I was of age, and when I graduated, Ozzy discovered me while I was on holiday in the States. This catalogue of his aunt's was a perfect way to break into modeling."

"Indeed it was," Narcissa agreed, sipping at a ridiculous bone china teacup, "You've made quite an impression. Madame Malkin tells me her business has nearly doubled since the catalogue launched."

I smiled. "That's wonderful!" I said, though I already knew, "She's been so good to me, and I wish her only the best."

My dad's evil cousin made a sort of blandly happy and agreeable face at me, setting down her cup. "Of course, dear," she cooed, "So you attended Beauxbatons? Do you speak French?"

"_Oui_," I giggled, "Quite fluently, along with Gaelic, Greek, Arabic, and some African languages. I hope next to learn Hebrew, Spanish, and Japanese next... _Parlez-vous français_?"

"Oh no," Narcissa laughed, "I've never had the head for it. But that is quite remarkable. You are a talented young woman."

We continued on with the small talk for a bit longer. I won't bore you with anymore because I don't really want anyone killing themselves to escape it. Ha.

Anyways, after sitting through another fifteen minutes or so of such nonsense, Narcissa received a floo call from the man who was redoing the marble countertops in her kitchen. He said there was a problem with the marble shipment; he wasn't certain if it was exactly what she wanted and would she please come at once to look at the stones?

"I'm sorry, Leda," she told me, flipping on a chic travel cloak, one of Madame Malkin's new line, "This is urgent. I've been waiting on these stones for weeks and any delay will set the whole project back even further... Daniel assures me it won't take longer than a half hour, so if you don't mind waiting, I'll see you get the tour while I'm away, and lunch will be served when I return. TULLY!!"

The house-elf with the raw nose and humpback appeared, already folded over into a low bow. "Yes, missus?"

"Please show Miss Chiot around the house. Make sure she gets whatever she wants."

"Yes, missus," the house-elf squeaked.

"Thank you, Narcissa," I replied, smiling, making a mental note to seriously also thank Daniel when I saw him. He really didn't like Narcissa and had been eager to help me with this plan. Hell ya I set it all up. Took a lot of planning and research, but I'm a criminal mastermind and it worked like a _charm_.

So Narcissa left, and I followed the little gray-green creature for a few minutes, listening to her go on about what country this painting was from and how expensive that carpet was and how wonderful Missus Narcissa's taste was.

"Tully," I finally said, producing an old photograph from my skirt pocket. The picture showed my dad and me sitting at his desk, coloring and laughing and happy. I held it out to the house-elf. "Does your missus have this desk in the house?"

Tully nodded.

A giddy thrill leapt into my throat. "Can-" I stuttered, mouth suddenly dry with excitement, "Can you show me?"

Again, the little house-elf nodded. "Missus says Miss Chiot gets whatever she wants," Tully squeaked, taking my hand.

A blink later, a sensation like sidealong apparition swamped my body, that squeezed-through-a-straw unpleasantness. Then we were in what looked like a dark attic.

Tully was already letting go of my hand and pulling a dusty sheet off a large lump in the corner.

And there it was: my daddy's desk, simple dark wood covered in spots of clawmarks and glitter fingerpaint.

I gasped, nearly in tears. I had to gain control quickly though. "Tully," I instructed, smiling at the creature, "I want you to cover your eyes. Don't open them until I tell you to." I could tell the house-elf was confused but it's really not their style to question orders. She did exactly what I asked.

And then I worked quickly, opening drawers and indeed finding yelled stacks of my old drawings. I definitely shed a few hurried tears, but I worked through them, taking out my wand and shrinking the desk down. I stuck it snugly into my pocket.

Next, I moved a stack of crumbling boxes into where the desk had stood and whispered a spell. In just a few moments, they were a perfect replica of Dad's desk. It would remain a viable stand-in for as long as no one tried to use it. But from the state of the attic, it seemed like the various furniture got few visitors.

Mission accomplished.

"Ok, Tully," I beamed, kneeling in front of the house-elf, "You can open your eyes."

She did, blinking at me and the desk.

"Your missus said to give me whatever I want, right?" I prompted.

Tully nodded, slightly bewildered. The sore on her nose looked infected.

"Well, I want you to never tell her or anyone else about this part of the tour," I said, smiling and petting Tully's sparse purplish hair, "Not ever, no matter what. Can you do that for me?"

"Miss Chiot gets whatever she wants," the creature replied, bowing, "Tully will not ever tell."

"You are the most loyal and obedient house-elf I have ever met," I told her, grinning almost out of my skull.

Tully blushed and beamed. House-elves love that sort of shit.

xxXxx

After getting the desk, I couldn't wait to get out of there, but, to keep up appearances (in case I ever wanted to come back for a second round of reclaim-my-family's-stuff-from-the-greedy-bitch; I was sure she must have my mum's jewelry), I stayed until Narcissa returned and sat through a long lunch with her. She mostly talked about her new counters.

Afterwards, I said I had an appointment to meet Ozzy to discuss another shoot, and I got the fuck out.

I giggled and laughed joyously on my broomride back to the Burrow, loop-de-looping and acting generally insane. It was the middle of the day, so Mr. and Mrs. W. weren't home when I got back.

I wasted no time getting the desk back to normal size and raiding the drawers. There were a lot of drawings, pretty much every scrap I'd ever scribbled on before my dad got taken away. I chose a few that I knew were his favorites and wrote him a letter:

_Dear Padfoot,  
Happy late Christmas! There's more where these come from, but I thought too many at once would count as owl cruelty._

_Call me anytime! Love you! XOXO!_

I put everything in a large envelope and flooed quickly to Hogwarts.

xxXxx

Harry was just getting out of Potions when I found him. He looked tired and gloomy, lagging behind Ron and Hermione, far behind the rest of the class in general.

I stalked him for a few turns and then full-body tackled the boy into a small alcove.

He yelped and lashed out blindly, only calming when he heard my giggle. "Stella?" he gasped, going limp, "Merlin's balls! You scared the piss out of me!"

"Ever so sorry, little bother," I grinned. And, no, that's not a typo.

I shoved the envelope into his hands. "Need this delivered to Padfoot." I leaned in close to his face, well inside the personal bubble, and demanded, "Can you handle that?"

His green eyes were huge and a little frightened. "'Course," the teen replied, "God, Stel, of course. But are you... alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I chirped, giving Harry a hand up, smiling, "It's a great day, and I'm feeling only the really fun kind of crazy!"

I had a thought.

"I want to hear a song," I told Harry, noticing Ron and Hermione arriving frantically in the opening of the alcove, "Sing for me, little bother!"

Harry hesitated and then, seeming to remember his earlier promise to do whatever it took to make thigns up to me, weakly began, "_There was a farmer had a dog, and Bingo was his name-o. B-I-N-G-O. B-I-N-G-O. B-I-N-G-O. And Bingo was his name-o_."

"Aw," I laughed, slinging my arm around Harry's bony shoulders and grinning at the other two musketeers, "He sang a song about a dog. That's just awesome. Five points."

I slapped Harry on the ass and then moved away from him. I hugged Ron, commenting, "You got hella tall," then Hermione, adding, "You got hella hot. Have babies with Ronniekins already."

Walking away from the stunned trio, I sweetly called, "Make sure that letter gets there, little bother, or I'll harm you in ways so creative and disturbing that they'll probably get me locked right back in the whack shack!"

xxXxx

I was still humming _Bingo_ when I found the twins. They were sprawled out on the floor in an unused classroom on the seventh floor, surrounded by stacks of books and parchment. Anyone else might've thought they were doing homework. I knew better.

"Inventing up a storm?" I greeted brightly, plopping between the boys and giving them both a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Fred tugged me down into a much longer, more fiery one that was definitely not on the cheek.

After a few lovely minutes, I heard George sigh, laughing, "Well, we _were._ What brings you around, darling Stel?"

"Had a letter for Padfoot," I replied, as soon as Fred stopped otherwise occupying my mouth. I shifted to lean my head against George's shoulder, snickering, "And I got Harry to serenade me."

Fred chuckled, "Should I be jealous?"

I giggled, "Only if your IQ suffered a catastrophic drop since last we spoke."

Fred smirked, answering, "Noted."

They were working on a line of treats that would give people minor injuries or illnesses with which they could skive out of class. And, for a few hours, it was just like good old times again, the twins and I putting our admittedly brilliant heads together to concoct all sorts of goodies. The time flew by like nothing.

"Starving," George finally grumbled, stretching out to grab a basket packed full of food, courtesy of the house-elves in the kitchen.

"I could eat," I replied, my head in Fred's lap. The redhead made a small sound of agreement, playing with my choppy blonde locks. "Dinner while we finish the last potion equation, then call it a night?" Fred suggested, yawning rather adorably, like a tuckered out puppy.

Already three hearty mouthfuls into a pair of very substantial sandwiches, George and I grunted our approval.

And, as was usually the case when we were hungry and finally faced with food, the three of us didn't really say too much while eating it. Well, until my nose started gushing blood.

"Oh, what the hell?" I grumbled, already dripping onto my clothes and purposely onto Fred since I knew it had to be his doing as I tried desperately to hold back the hot fountain.

Both twins laughed uproariously, Fred snickering, "Consider this payback for the butterbeer... any adverse effects?"

Acknowledging that I probably did have the retribution coming and that research was vital, I rolled my eyes and responded, "None thus far. But I don't think there should be quite so much blood all at once. Having customers bleed to death won't be good for business."

"It's theatrical, but it should be impossible to lose enough blood to do any actual harm," George informed me, looking quite proud of the invention, "As long as you're not feeling lightheaded. That's what the Fainting Fancies are for."

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes yet again.

And then everything sort of got... fuzzy. It felt like I was being squashed, sinking rapidly down into the floor, Fred's and George's concerned faces swimming up above me somewhere, getting farther and farther away until the sinking, squished feeling finally stopped and they were hovering at least a mile above me...

"What the hell?" I muttered, holding my forehead and struggling to my feet, achy and suffering from a quite severe case of vertigo. The twins' nostrils looked _huge_.

Neither of the boys answered, gaping down at me like I'd grown another head. Which, you know, was always a possibility. Something had clearly gone wrong.

"Merlin, Stella," Fred breathed, horrified and amazed all at once, kind of loud, "You... you _shrank_."

I stared up at him, for some reason disbelieving as I demanded, "What? No. That's not... how could I have _shrank_? You two can't have screwed up a nosebleed potion _that_ badly!"

They exchanged one of their Looks. And then Fred reached down and scooped me off my feet, up off the ground.

With one damn hand.

Sprawled on my back in the young man's calloused palm, I almost had to close my eyes against the sickening lurch of motion that came as Fred brought me up closer to his face. Still dizzy from the ride and the shrinking, I couldn't find the coordination to stand but did manage to note that I was roughly the size of a small mouse.

Far too shocked to be freaking out quite yet, I looked up and told them, "Oh, you two are _so_ dead."

xxxxxxxxxx

What's the verdict? Too random? Just random enough? How often do I end up asking that question? Hehe. Anyways, I am once again sorry for the delay. School's been out for awhile, but my life seems to have gotten even more hectic. I'm working hard whenever I can on updates, so try to be patient with me. And reviews, as always are my crack. Or my anti-drug. Whichever floats your canoe :)


	18. Little Things

Part 18 - Little Things

Doxy egg allergies are very, very rare. Only one in several million people has one.

Of course, I am one of those lucky people. And I discovered this quaint fact one lovely February evening when Fred slipped a Nosebleed Nougat prototype--which just happened to be chockfull of doxy eggs--into my dinner and I shrank to the size of a mouse.

"I'm going to kill you," I told him, for the third time since it had happened. I couldn't really think of anything else to say, achy and suffering from a rather severe case of vertigo. Suddenly being so small can really throw off a person's perspective.

In response to my threat, George snorted. "Stel, you're three inches tall and sound like you've been sucking on a balloon," he laughed, kind of uneasy, "And you're kind of naked. I don't think you're not going to be killing anyone or anything quite that high on the food chain."

Did I forget to mention that my clothes hadn't shrunk with me? Ya. I tend to leave that part out when telling the story. It's not really the _most _horrible part, but it's definitely my least favorite.

Glaring, clutching tightly to the thankfully clean handkerchief wrapped around my miniscule body, I held on tight to Fred's thumb in order to keep my balance in his massive hand. I was much too far off the ground and extremely terrified. "Naked and tiny or not, I will _chew through your jugular_," I hissed, "You turned me into a wingless pixie!"

"Well, you make a very cute wingless pixie," Fred offered, looking nervous and guilty. He abandoned the book he'd been flipping through with his free hand--because I was kind of terrified and was refusing to let go of the other. "I'm sorry, Stel," the redhead sighed, "I had no idea you were allergic to doxy eggs. The good news is that you should be back to normal height in about three days-"

"THREE DAYS?!" I shrieked, wincing at how squeaky and high-pitched I sounded, like a B-movie munchkin, "I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS FOR THREE FUCKING DAYS!!"

"There's nothing that can be done," Fred muttered, blushing, "Our antidote didn't do anything but stop the nosebleed. The only way to get doxy eggs out of your system is to let them breakdown on their own. I'll take you to see Pomfrey if you'd like, but she's going to say the same thing."

I deflated a bit, slumping down into Fred's palm, hugging the base of his thumb and bursting into tears. "I don't want to be this motherfucking small!" I wailed, sobbing rather violently, "I don't have any _clothes_! I'm going to get _squished_! A cat is going to _eat me_!"

"I'm really sorry, Stel," Fred said, carefully drawing the tip of one finger against my shaking back, "I'm sorry. But you're going to be fine. I swear. We'll look after you until you're better."

"Of course," George soothed, offering a comforting grin, "We'll make sure you're safe. No cats and no squishing. And, look, it's Saturday, right? You've only got to make it until Tuesday night. We'll cut class and keep an eye on you. We won't let you out of our sights."

Sniffling, I weakly laughed, "You just want an excuse not to go to class, slacker."

George chuckled and said, "I'm thinking only of your wellbeing, Stella-dear."

"You suck," I hiccupped, curling up into a teeny tiny ball in Fred's palm, pressing my snotty face against his thumb. "My whole body hurts," I complained, sounding almost unbearably childish.

"That's soreness from the rapid shrinking," Fred reassured me, trying to smile, "Just wait until you have to grow up again."

I gave his hand a brief punch that I'm sure he barely felt. Damn being small.

And then, because I'm awesome, I got _the greatest idea ever_.

"Stella?" Fred asked, disturbed by the excited, scheming smile breaking out on my tear-streaked face, "Stel, whatever it is, no. Don't even think about it."

I turned to grin at him, standing unsteadily and declaring, "Too late. I've thought. And I am a _genius_."

Giving an uneasy chuckle, George responded, "Every time you're a genius, we get into trouble. Buildings explode. Nations collapse."

I flashed my most charming smile, "Not_ every_ time. And this really is the culmination of all my considerable deviousness and intelligence. Besides, you _shrank_ me. I think that earns a free pass on whatever I want to do."

I glared at the boys until they showed signs of giving into my demand, and then I sprang it on them: "I want you to mail me to my dad."

xxXxx

The several hours of inevitable arguing that followed were quite boring, so let's skip them. I eventually guilted the twins into going along with my plan. Well, that and I threatened to try to do it on my own. No matter what they said, they were just as worried as I was about my being squished or eaten. A solo trip to the owlery would have undoubtedly resulted in my becoming lunch for one of our fine feathered friends.

So Fred found a sturdy box and poked holes in it, cushioned the inside and packed me some food and water and normal sized clothing, as well as my wand and a decent amount of cash for when I was big again, so that I could get myself home from wherever I ended up. Because that was a main issue: we weren't sure where I would end up. Wherever my dad was, was the plan. But there was no telling. As much as it was genius, there were a lot of things that could've gone wrong.

"Stella, I'm begging you," Fred said, again, carrying me on our quest to find Harry, "Please, think about this."

"What's to think about," I replied, grinning from inside my comfy shoebox and my not so comfy dress (the tiny clothing selection among Ginny's doll collection was both hideous and illfitting but pretty much the only reliable option I had), "It's awesome and going to happen, with or without your help."

"This is so dangerous," he sighed, "I should just lock you in somewhere until the doxy eggs wear off. They obviously had some adverse effects on your brain."

Pouting, I replied, "Hey, watch it, mister. Need I remind you how your fault this whole thing is? And if you lock me anywhere, then you can say goodbye to any future possibility of getting past second base."

George snickered, watching his twin's bright blush and my smug, tiny smile.

Harry was alone in the library, thank goodness, and he jumped nearly out of his pasty skin when the twins flopped noisily down on either side of him. As per the plan, they'd already closed and secured the lid of my box, so that Harry couldn't actually see what he was mailing. Last thing I wanted to do was spend another precious few hours having to talk the brat into my plan. Anyways, I saw very little through the air holes but found that I could hear perfectly fine.

"Special delivery for Padfoot," Fred stated, terse and nervous. I could feel his continuing reluctance in the way he kept a warm, steady hand on the box.

"Stella's orders," George supplied, a disarming grin in his voice, "Wants it sent right this very second."

Suspicious, Harry looked at each twin in turn. I could make out the motion of his head as shadows falling across my air holes. "She just gave me a package a few hours ago," he said, quiet, "I already sent the owl off... and what's in there anyways? It looks like something alive..."

"Asking questions doesn't score you points," Fred answered, pointedly, "Do you want to complain and nose around, or do you want Stella actually talking to you again?"

He's so persuasive.

I could tell that Harry nodded. "Ya, ok," the boy said, already packing his books and parchments. He sounded depressed. I felt an intense urge to hug him and make it all better.

I didn't, of course, and Fred carried me while the twins accompanied Harry down to the owlery. It was a fairly long walk. They had time to talk.

"How goes the champion business?" George asked, neutral and conversational.

Sighing, Harry replied, "Pretty dreadful. I figured out that I need to be able to breathe underwater for the next task, but I can't find any spells or charms that I can do that will let me do it."

"I'm sure you'll find something," George said. He sounded like he'd shrugged.

The threesome walked along in silence for a few minutes.

"Did Stella... say anything to you two?" Harry finally asked, hesitant, "You know, about this whole points thing and... if she's really going to give me another chance?"

"You're already being given another chance," Fred insisted, somewhat harsh and obviously annoyed, "What you did _broke_ her. Do you even understand that?"

Inside the hot, dark interior of the box, I shifted to press my face against one of the tiny airholes, to see out and see Harry's reaction.

He was wearing an expression one might expect on to seen on an individual who just realized he's kicked a puppy. "I understand," the teen murmured, ashamed, "I just... I want to make it right-"

"You probably can't," Fred cut him off, unusually surly, probably because he was so nervous about going through with my plan, "But Stella isn't capable of not loving your scrawny arse just because it happens to be attached to a complete and utter bastard."

It was actually a very accurate capturing of my sentiments. Trust Fred to be the one to so perfectly sum up the situation.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Harry sighed again, commenting, "I'm grateful for that. But I miss her. I didn't realize... she really was one of my best friends. She always watched out for me and I never appreciated that." I saw a bare hint of a smile on his face, suddenly noticing how gaunt and pale the boy had become. "Even thought she's only kind of harassing me now, I like having her talking to me again."

Sweet little pillock.

"Well, we'll just have to see how things turn out," George remarked blandly, offering Harry a smile and a comforting clap on the back, "Stella can hold a grudge, but usually not for very long. Especially not if you're really trying your best to make things right."

I'm fairly sure the comment was for my benefit just as much as Harry's.

Anyways, after a bit of a walk, they finally reached the owlery. Fred very reluctantly relinquished my box. It was only then that I appreciated just how steady and careful he'd been with it. Harry let it swing and rock quite a bit more, despite a fierce scolding from the twins. I was very quickly queasy.

Which was nothing compared with the feeling of lifting into the air and setting off towards my father.

xxXxx

The journey took roughly two days and was _not_ pleasant. I had food and water, but I couldn't really touch it. My stomach was in a constant state of protest as the school owl let my box sway and swing precariously. I was motion sick for the entirety, sticking my head out of the airholes to dry heave violently. Hot and miserable and itchy in that damn frilly doll dress.

On top of that, I was scared even sicker that this strange reaction was going to wear off midflight and I was going to end up busting the box and plummeting.

But that didn't happen. Finally, fucking _finally_, the box bumped as it hit dirt. Achy and nauseas, I laid perfectly still for quite awhile, just enjoying the fact that I was not flying anymore, even though I kind of had that phantom thing going on, like when you're on a boat for a long time and then get off but can still feel the waves rocking you back and forth.

I'm not sure how long I was there before the box lurched and was moving again, most of the air holes blocked from the sunlight and letting in horrible dog breath and excited pants. It was too much, I groaned and stuck my head out one of a free airhole and tried to puke but couldn't. There was absolutely nothing left in my stomach. I dry heaved loudly.

There was a startled yelp, not mine, and then I was falling. Some rough tumbling followed. I barely got my head pulled back inside in time to avoid having it crushed.

I was still again, but only for a moment. The lid came off the box... or, actually, the bottom half was pulled up, since the box was upside down. Being in the fresh air again had almost no effect on the smothering humidity. Disentangling myself from the cloth lining and my uneaten food supply, I blinked up into the sunlight and the startled eyes of my puppy. My daddy.

And that was about the time I passed out cold.

xxXxx

It was dehydration. Stupid me, puking all the liquid out of my shrunken little body and not bothering to replenish it.

I woke up the second time with my dad's human face instead of the dog one hovering over mine. He looked freaked out of his shaggy skull.

"Stella? Baby?" he questioned, anxious, his rough hands hovering like he was afraid to let them touch me, "Are you- what- how did this-" The poor man couldn't seem to decide what he wanted to ask first.

I smiled serenely up at him, at his blue-gray eyes--identical to mine except for the wrinkles at the corners, years of stress and torture and worry--at his gaunt, weathered cheeks and the tight line of his chapped lips. Aside from the skinniness and deep lines, the man looked pretty much the same as I remembered.

"Hey, Daddy," I sighed, still a bit queasy, still fucking_ small_ but so damn relieved.

His mouth gaped open and closed a few times. And then he sagged, smiling and tearing up as he breathed, "Hey, baby girl... how're you feeling?"

"Alright," I answered, quite choked up myself, "Better now that I'm on the ground." I did finally notice the ground. It was deep brown dirt, warm and sprinkled sparsely with leaf litter from the tall trees around us. They, along with the humidity and brightly colored flowers and sounds of bird and monkey calls, alerted me to the fact that we were somewhere tropical. Mexico? South America?

"Not that I'm not thrilled you're here, love," Daddy said, soft, holding out his hand for me to climb into and carefully bringing my small body up near his crinkled smile, "But Moony is going to kill us... well, mainly me, so I guess it's worth it."

I grinned, throwing my arms around his thumb and squeezing tight. "Uncle Remus will understand," I replied, sighing happily, "I just couldn't wait any longer. And, besides, he did promise that he'd finally let me start helping."

Dad looked at me a little funnily, asking, "Helping? With what?"

"You know," I said, "With trying to get you safe and back in the country and somewhere I can see you."

"Oh," Dad answered, "Ya, of course... Well, you certainly went about it in a highly creative manner. What is with the tininess?"

Snickering, I announced, "Doxy egg allergy."

"Oh," Dad said again, smiling brightly, "Ya, I've got one of those. Hurts like a bitch in the shrinking and unshrinking parts, but it's useful for causing a bit of mayhem in between." Giggling, babbling with an air of nervousness, he continued, "This one time, I wanted to surprise Moony for his birthday, so I ate some doxy eggs and got Prongs to wrap me up as a present. You should've seen Moony's face when he opened the box and I jumped out. I thought he was going to have a stroke."

I snickered far more than was probably appropriate.

"But then a cat tried to eat me," Dad continued, looking suddenly and ferociously concerned. "Love!" he cried out, "You're going to get _eaten_! By something a lot worse than a cat! What were you thinking coming here?!"

Pouting, I gazed up at him and replied, "I wanted to see you. And I was through waiting. I'm sure I won't get eaten." Actually, I was terrified of getting eaten. But I wasn't going to let onto it.

Anyways, Dad held me closer, setting off at a gentle but quick trot into the jungle, the box with all my assorted supplies tucked under one of his arms. "Well, I'm not taking any chances," Dad declared, "We're going somewhere safe and away from cats until you're better. How many more days do you have?"

"Should only be one more," I replied, snuggling into the callous, hastily but thoroughly cleaned skin of my daddy's palm, "Really, I'll be fine. How are you? Have you been getting my letters?"

He flashed me an adoring grin, chirping, "Sure have. They're the highlight of my days. How in the hell did you get a hold of those drawings? I thought for sure they'd been lost."

"Narcissa still had your desk," I announced, quite proud of my genius caper, "So I stole it."

His wolfish smile grew wider. "You are a gem," he chortled adoringly, "An absolute gem."

"Not half bad yourself, Daddy," I answered, happy to be home.

xxXxx

Dad had sort of a makeshift camp at the mouth of a shallow cave, a cooking pit and a fallen log with a canvas tarp stretched overhead for shade. It wasn't much. Dad seemed a little embarrassed. He had no reason to be; I was glad to be anywhere as long as it was with him.

"So, are you hungry?" he asked, carrying me carefully shielded body between his cupped hands like I was about to be snatched away at any second. "I've got... um... some bread and some chocolate frogs left from Harry's last package. I'll go and get some real food once I'm sure you're not going to get eaten when I let you out of my sight." He looked so painfully nervous, almost twitching with it.

Shrugging, I said, "I'm not hungry. My stomach is still a little upset. But I'll be fine with whatever you have. I don't care about food." I smiled up at him, just... speechless. I'd been waiting so damn long for this moment, and now that it had arrived, I couldn't think of anything really important to say.

Dad appeared to be having similar difficulties, continually opening his mouth like he was going to say something and then deciding not to and closing it once again.

For awhile, we just stared at each other, hardly seeming to believe we were together after so many years apart.

Dad finally chuckled, complaining, "Merlin, I waited so long for this and now I don't even know what to say to you. How's that for irony, eh?"

Laughing, I countered, "Pretty good, I'd say, especially since I'm faced with the same ironic circumstance." I sat down Indian style in the plam of his hand, smiling upwards and suggesting, "Anymore good doxy-shrinkage stories? I'm always looking for new ideas."

He grinned and volunteered, "Sure, I've got a ton! Moony always said me and Prongs really abused the allergy. Prongs kept talking me into shrinking down and spying on Lily for him. His invibility cloak wasn't practical in crowds, so I'd hide out in her purse. One of those times was when the cat almost ate me, so Moony _forbade_ us from doing it anymore."

I giggled, adding, "He's funny when he's forbidding things. You know, thinking he'll be listened to."

"Right," Dad chuckled, "Didn't really work on us either. Next shrinkage after that was aimed mainly at infiltrating the headmaster's office. I hitched a ride on someone's pantleg and then snuck about inside. I leafed through all his stuff and just generally made a mess of things. Did that for a couple days. I had him thinking that the castle was infested with sentient mice."

"Almost true," I snickered, "Definitely going to have to give that one a try."

Beaming, Dad chirped, "All yours, baby. Enjoy. Just, you know, be careful of cats."

"Never liked those things," I declared, wrinkling my tiny nose, "They're vicious and completely disloyal. Not like dogs."

"I was always more of a dog-man myself," Dad replied.

After only a moment, we both shared a hearty laugh.

This... it felt good. It felt _right_. I was glad to be home.

xxXxx

Most of the first day and evening was just us swapping crazy stories, about shrinking and lots of other fun stuff. My dad had some damn good ones, ones I was going to have to try for myself at the first available opportunity. I had quite a few that Dad proclaimed were sheer brilliance, especially the desk caper, which I recounted at great length and to great amusement.

Still exhausted and depleted from the journey, I fell asleep a bit early. Dad covered me in a blanket and curled up around me, kept watch over me the whole night, kept me warm and protected me while I unshrank.

I woke up naked beneath the blanket (having busted out of the doll dress), almost too sore to move. But Dad was ready with a painrelief potion, one of the ones I'd sent with a complete first aid kit a few weeks back. Everyone should have a first aid kit at their disposal, and that just proved it.

Afterwards, I felt much better, though still sore. But at least I could get up, move around, get dressed in some practical jeans and a t-shirt, _thank Merlin_. Tulle is a tool of the devil.

I was absolutely famished, so Dad had me eat a few chocolate frogs for breakfast. That sure did bring back memories, though bittersweet ones since Mum was no longer around to scold us both about proper nutrition for growing bodies.

"She used to hate when I made breakfast," Dad remembered fondly, "The only things I really knew how to make were eggs and chocolate chip pancakes, and you wouldn't eat eggs."

Laughing, I recounted, "Ya, not since dear old Uncle James told me where they come from."

"Knew that was him!" Dad crowed, victorious, "Cheeky bastard said it wasn't, but I knew! No one else would be enough of an arse to tell a two-year-old that eggs come from chickens' bums! You screamed about it for weeks! We couldn't even _buy_ eggs anymore!"

"It wasn't just that," I argued, "I didn't like the idea of eating something out of something else's bum, but I really got upset by him trying to talk to me about it and letting slip that eggs are unborn baby chickens. I didn't want to eat anything's babies. And I kept having nightmares about a giant chicken trying to eat the baby."

At the mention of my sister, Dad and I both went quiet. We remained that way for quite a few long, awkward minutes. The knot welling up in my throat would've made speaking impossible even if I'd actually had anything to say at that point.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?" Daddy stated softly, smiling sadly as he reached out to smooth down my choppy bangs, "You don't still blame yourself?"

I certainly did and didn't want to lie, so I hurriedly looked away, sniffing back tears.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dad murmured, folding me into the warmth and safety of his thin arms, "What happened was an awful thing, but there was nothing you could've done."

"I know," I croaked, feeling comfortable and loved and at the same time guilty, "I-I just... I still think I should've. Anything could've made it all turn out different."

Nodding, Dad said, "Different, ya. But not necessarily better. You and your mum survived the blast. I'm thankful everyday for that because plenty of others didn't."

Couldn't really argue with that logic. I nodded slightly, snuggling contentedly into his chest. After a long few moments of silence, I asked, "Did you guys have a name picked out?"

Dad rested his cheek on top of my head. I could feel him smiling, sadly. "Your mum liked Ariel," he murmured, chuckling, "She probably would've changed her mind a dozen and a half more times, but she was set on it when... you know."

"Ariel," I repeated, finding it odd that... that she suddenly had a name, after all those years... "It's pretty," I declared.

"Mhmm," Daddy agreed.

There was really nothing more to say.

xxXxx

Later that afternoon, when I was more recovered from the side effects of my rapid unshrinking, Dad packed up camp and took me on a long hike through the jungle. He let it slip that we were in a rainforest in Brazil, though caught himself before spilling any other relevant geographical information. Like not knowing was going to stop me from visiting him again if the urge arose.

But anyways, the hike was magnificent, marked throughout by some of the most beautiful and interesting plants, animals, and geographical features I had ever seen. And Dad was a pretty damn good tour guide. He didn't know the real names of any of the sights but made up ones that had to be three times as good. It rained off and on, and we splashed through mud puddles, so, yeah, totally worth the damp socks.

We hiked until we reached a stream and then hiked up the stream until we found its source: a calm, clear pool at the base of a small waterfall. We set up camp on the shore and ate lunch--some kind of spicy fruit Dad had collected along the way--and then swam and horsed around for the rest of the day. It was all so... simple. So picturesque and utopian. So easy to forget that it wasn't my life, not really.

As twilight set in, Dad transformed and left me on my own for an hour or so, letting me dry off and warm up by the fire. He returned dragging a fresh kill. At the time, we just called it an anteater-pig. Later, I discovered that it had been a tapir. Either way, Dad cooked us up an extravagant meal of anteater-pig and various unidentifiable tropical fruits. Both of us stuffed ourselves to the point of almost bursting, probably consuming close to half the meat. The rest got packed away for the coming days.

When dinner was over, we stretched out beside the fire and watched the stars through a hole in the canopy. We swapped more wild stories. I don't really remember falling asleep, but I slept like I was a child again, worry-free and secure in the knowledge that my daddy would never let anything bad happen to me.

I woke suddenly to near darkness, unsure of why. The fire was almost out, only coals glowing, radiating soft heat. A sliver of moon hung suspended overhead in a breathtaking sea of stars. Somewhat disoriented at finding myself awake, I whispered, "Daddy?"

He wasn't where I'd left him.

I bolted upright, a knot of panic seizing my heart. "Daddy?" I called again, looking around frantically, finding nothing but dark jungle all around, "Daddy?!"

"What is it, love?" he finally answered, bounding back from beyond the treeline, still in the process of hurriedly zipping his fly. He fell down to his knees at my side, face full of concern, long arms reaching to pull me into a comforting hug. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," I replied, still panicked and nearly sobbing, "I just- I-I woke up, and you weren't here, and I thought- I thought you'd left."

His grip tightened. Swallowing hard, he pressed a kiss to my temple. "Never, baby girl," he murmured, "Never again."

I clung hard, shuddering. "Promise?"

Dad let out a long breath. "You are my _everything_," he declared, "Everything I have left that means _anything_. There is no way in hell I'm giving you up while I'm still alive."

My exhaustion took hold again, panic washed away by relief and fatigue. Already falling asleep on my daddy's shoulder, I murmured, "Ok. Me too."

Giving a barking laugh, he released me a little ways, guiding me back down into my bedroll and tucking me in with familiar ease. "Sleep, baby girl," he ordered softly, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, "We've got more ground to cover tomorrow, and I want to have as much fun with you as possible before Moony calls to make me give you back."

I chuckled and fell asleep not long after.

xxXxx

True to his word, Dad had me up early and hiking the following morning. We reached the Amazon River around lunch, which was sort of exciting because that made two of the world's longest and largest rivers I'd been to. Eating more tapir and playing exploding snap on a sunny bank, I told Dad about my adventure along the Nile. He countered with a fun tale of riding a riverboat on the Mississippi with my mum, literally losing his shirt in a poker game and having Mum laugh at him so hard that she couldn't even be mad anymore.

After walking a ways up the river, Dad flagged down a fisherman he knew named Felipe. He was a nice man, old and tan and wrinkled and short, with shock white hair and almost no teeth left. He also spoke fairly decent English; Dad bartered with him, most of the tapir meat for a ride for the both of us.

While Felipe took us in his small boat up the Amazon and into the Pará River branch, he taught me some Portugeuse, which was awesome because I didn't know any and am always looking to expand my language repertoire. Dad just watched and listened, smiling and sunning himself in the bow of the small, rusty motorboat.

We reached Belém, the capital city of the Brazilian state of Pará, just as the sun was setting. Felipe left us at a central port, laughing and waving as he putted off into the dark.

"What do you think, love?" Dad asked, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we strolled leisurely through a bustling downtown area, "Dinner?"

"Sure," I chirped happily, thinking of the emergency cash in my pocket, "It's on me, ok?"

"Psh," he countered playfully, "Like I'm going to let you pay for anything. In fact, I should take you shopping. I've got like, what? Twenty birthdays to make up for?"

I chuckled, "More like thirteen. I'm only fifteen now, though most people guess older."

"That's because you're so damn smart and beautiful," Dad chuckled, ducking in to press a kiss to my temple, "Let's go find a casino or something so I can kick butt at poker."

"Just don't lose your shirt again," I snickered.

Playfully tickling my side, Dad answered, "Smartarse. I still think that game was fixed."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself," I teased brightly.

xxXxx

The next few hours were very productive. The sun went down. Daddy found a backalley game and cleaned up, then took me to dinner. We had some kind of spicy Brazilian shrimp dish, which was very good. Being that Dad and I possessed a quite high degree of inherent charm and sociability, we ended up making friends with the waiter, who taught me some more useful Portugeuse phrases and also directed us to his aunt's hotel, a small place near the water, just a dozen or so rooms. We got one on the third floor and took turns showering the jungle off our bodies. By the time we were clean, it was late, and we flopped into our beds and slept until early afternoon.

We got lunch from a street vendor and then wandered near the waterfront. The day was sunny and clear, blue skies, calm seas. We had some vague plans to go do something, shopping or sightseeing or a similar activity, but in the end, we didn't do anything but walk and talk and get caught up. Daddy mostly had me telling stories, and he listened intently, always smiling and laughing, tucking me close against his side.

Another day passed, another fun-filled night. By the time we wandered back to our hotel room, Remus was there waiting. And he did not look at all happy.

"Um..." I gaped, fidgeting guiltily, "Surprise?"

His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had lost all color. His eyes flashed dangerously as he stood from the bed closest to the door. "Get your things, Stella," my uncle ordered curtly.

I was disappointed but did as he asked.

"Hey, Moony," Dad murmured, looking kind of deflated as he pushed dark hair away from his face.

"Padfoot," Uncle Remus replied. He didn't yell or scold or anything, just waited patiently while I gathered a few odds and ends.

I tried to drag it out, but I didn't have very much to pack. Before long, I was ready to go. Physically, at least.

Dad walked over and hugged me close for a long time. I couldn't help crying a little into his shoulder as he whispered, "It's ok, love. We're going to see each other again real soon. I promise. Don't be sad."

The lump in my throat prevented speech, but I did manage a brief nod as I pulled away.

Dad smiled sadly, smudging the tears off my face. He lingered a few moments longer than was strictly necessary, seeming to be committing my face to memory as I did the same for his. Then he gave me a playful shove towards Uncle Remus, murmuring, "Go on now. Before Moony spanks us both."

I laughed and left and cried the whole way home.

xxXxx

Remus didn't really get as mad as I thought he would. There was no yelling or scolding at all, even later. There was just that "I'm so disappointed in you" face that he knows I can't stand.

He was a little ticked about me stealing the desk back though. He did have some strong words with me about that.

"You've already been put on trial and almost thrown into Azkaban _twice_," the harried old man sighed, kneading his temples, "And that's just within the last _year_. Don't you think it might have been a good idea to lay low for awhile?"

Shrugging, I quipped, "It's not like I'm going to get caught."

He sighed, again, long and suffering. "You'll want to get in touch with the twins," he said, "I may have been a little hard on them when I was trying to figure out where you'd gone."

I frowned, defending, "It wasn't their fault. I made them go along with it."

"They should've had the sense to tell you no!" he snapped, clearly upset. He sighed again, adding, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sharp. I was just... you can't do that, Stella. You can't disappear on me. Not again."

"Sorry," I answered, giving my old uncle a big hug because he looked like he really needed one, "I just... miss him. So much. And I couldn't pass up my chance."

"I am working on getting him home for you," Remus replied, giving me a long, tight squeeze, "I know you hate being patient, but I'm doing my best."

"I know," I told him, pulling away to give the man a wide smile, "Thanks."

Smirking, Remus ruffled my hair and ordered, "Well, go on then. Go see the twins. They were worried as well."

"Teach them to slip me experiments," I giggled, pecking my uncle on the cheek before heading off.

xxXxx

The twins, as Remus had stated, were beside themselves with worry and appeared equally as relieved when I surprised them after dinner.

"Merlin, Stel," Fred sighed, practically squeezing the life out of me, "Let's never do that again, ok?"

"Well," I countered mischieviously, "At least not the mailing part."

Laughing, he hugged me closer and kissed my neck and mumbled, "Brat."

"So?" George questioned when it was his turn to wrap me up in his arms, "How was it?"

"It was amazing!" I gushed, beaming, "We had so much fun!"

George smirked, letting me go just far enough to give my arse a quick smack as he added, "I'm glad."

I didn't do anything to fight the seemingly never-ending smile on my face, sending an elbow into George's ribs as I chirped, "Uncle Remus said he was rough on you guys finding out where I was. Nothing you couldn't handle though, right?"

Snorting, Fred slung an arm around my shoulders and replied, "Nah. Just threatened to shove our heads up each other's arses. And I'm pretty sure he was dead serious."

"Oh," I laughed, "If that was it, then you got off easy."

"Stella!"

I turned around and saw Cedric Diggory jogging out of the Great Hall with Cho Change at his side. They were so cute together, so genuinely happy.

"Hey, guys," I greeted, waving brightly, "How're things?"

"Peachy," Cedric chirped, pulling me into a friendly, rather startling hug, "Yourself?"

"Oh, I'm fine," I laughed, soothing Fred's jealous glare by slipping my hand into his, "You looking forward to that second task?"

The tall brunette chuckled, nervously fluffing his hair as he replied, "Guess that's one way to put it. I'm kind of just hoping not to screw up too badly at this point. How about you?" He turned his attention to Fred, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "Any big plans for Valentine's Day?"

"Top secret," Fred countered proudly.

I turned and laughed at him, joking, "First I've heard of this."

He pouted, sweet and heartfelt. "Course I made plans," the redhead whined, "You want to spend it with me, don't you?"

"Course," I responded eagerly, brushing a kiss on his cheek, "Idiot."

He grinned brilliantly.

xxXxx

So that was how, early in the evening on February 14th, 1995, I found myself waiting on the deserted Hogsmeade train platform. I'd received a letter from Fred in the afternoon with instructions to do so. And I trusted him enough to follow them, but, of course, I felt rather foolish standing there in a short, sexy red dress, with my hair and makeup done perfectly.

I only had a light shawl, so I was kind of cold, hopping from foot to high-heeled foot and rubbing my bare arms for warmth, watching my breath freeze in the air. Fred was about ten minutes late and, due to the fact that I'd freeze otherwise, I was only going to give him about five more. The sun would be setting soon, and the dark would only make the cold worse.

That was when I heard the hiss of a steam engine. I turned and saw the Hogwarts Express rumbling towards me down the tracks.

An involuntary laugh bubbled out of my throat. I shook my head, watching and waiting as the train got closer and stopped at the platform. After only a moment, Fred appeared in one of the doorways, beaming and looking unbearably handsome in a crisp black tuxedo.

"Evening, love," he greeted smoothly, holding out a red rose, "You are a vision, as usual."

"Fred," I laughed, taking the flower and then Fred's hand up onto the vehicle, "Tell me you didn't steal a train."

"Borrowed it for a truly excellent cause," he countered, winking, ducking in to kiss me as the contraption lurched back to life. The kiss got kind of intense kind of fast, deep and long as we hung almost halfway out of the train car.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless.

"Come on," Fred declared, grinning like a wild man as he tugged me up inside, "Dinner's getting cold, and we'll miss the sunset."

"Who's driving?" I questioned as Fred steered me down the hall.

"No one," he laughed, "Drives itself."

"Hmm," I replied, chewing on my bottom lip, "So George isn't around then?"

"Merlin, no," Fred answered, "He got a date with some Ravenclaw girl. They went to Hogsmeade."

"Hmm," I said again, slow and sultry, "So... we're all alone."

Fred beamed over his shoulder, finally pulling me into one of the compartments. "That's the genius of my masterplan," he declared, fitting my body snugly against his, "Just us."

We kissed again, for... quite awhile. And we both pulled away laughing. Fred nuzzled my throat, murmuring, "You're distracting."

"You're one to talk," I snickered, getting around to noticing the small, nicely set table, the wide open windows and the sun setting on the horizon.

And then I noticed where we were, specifically. "Is this..." I ventured quietly, kind of stunned and touched, "Is this the compartment we first met in?"

Looking exceedingly proud of himself, Fred brushed a few stray curls away from my eyes and responded, "Sure is. I thought it'd be nice for our first official coupley Valentine's."

"It's wonderful," I breathed, feeling kind of teary even as I pulled the strapping young man into another deep kiss. At that rate, we were never going to get to dinner.

"Glad you like it," Fred whispered against my lips, starry eyed as he ducked in for another lingering press of flesh. Our hands wandered, slow and sensual...

And then my stomach growled, quite loudly. And we pulled apart laughing. Fred pulled away to pull out a chair for me, and soon we were seated at the small table, side by side and facing toward the brilliant pink sunset. Fred put an arm around my shoulders and, with a flourish, revealed a spread of food that included cheeseburgers and chips and jalapeno-pineapple pizza and chocolate ice cream.

"Wow," I laughed, snuggling against his side and snagging a chip, "Some setup. Do we pig out now?"

"Whatever you'd like, m'lady," Fred replied with a brilliant grin, grabbing a burger and taking a big chomp.

We ate and talked and cuddled and watched the sun set through the window as the countryside flew by outside. When dinner was through, Fred flicked his wand and cleared away the table. Some soft music came on, and we slow danced there in the compartment, just holding each other close. It was relaxing. Perfect, I'd say.

I found myself letting my head fall to rest on Fred's shoulder, contentedly murmuring, "I love you."

"Love you, too, Stel," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, "Happy Valentine's."

And that's how it was for awhile. For a whole evening, life was good.

xxxxxxxxxx

Hope this chapter was to your liking. I'm started on the next and hope to finish it quite a bit quicker than this one. Reviews, as always, are encouraged and appreciated :)


	19. Acquisitions

Part 19 - Acquisitions

For Valentine's Day, Fred stole me a train (well, he'd say that he _borrowed_ me a train, but whatever). It was perfect date. One of the best I've ever been on. Everything about it was absolutely perfect.

The next week and a half was boring. I made a few trips back to Hogwarts, sometimes hanging out with the twins and sometimes talking to Professor McGonogall about reenrolling for the next year, which I had grudgingly agreed to do. We decided that I would take the OWLs with my own class at the end of the current school year; provided I earned excellent scores, I would be bumped a grade level for the following year. I'd be with the twins and graduate in one year instead of two and be done with the whole ordeal of school. I was also going to have a private room adjacent to but not connected to the Tower; I was going to have permission to leave as often as I needed to attend therapy sessions, make work appointments, visit family, and just generally get out of there when the idiot-flavored filling of the castle was wreaking too much havoc on my fragile psyche.

I had a photoshoot with Ozzy, a more artistic one just for his portfolio that I did as a favor to him, and afterwards, to say thanks, he took me out to a very fancy lunch and a very silly movie. He was turning into a really great friend. He was sweet and funny and tons of fun.

I had similar lunchdates with Remus and Tonks during that week and a half, one each on their own and then one with both together. They'd also turned into quite the good friends. They'd always been fairly cordial, but, since I'd disappeared, they'd gotten much closer. I could've sworn there was a spark there...

Anyways, a week and a half passed in such a manner, and then it was time for the second task.

I arrived at Hogsmeade in the morning and met the twins at the Three Broomsticks for breakfast. They'd been up all night inventing, so neither was the best company until I managed to get some caffeine into them.

"Stupid task," George yawned, resting his head on the table, "Could be asleep right now."

"Could've been asleep last night, idiot," I laughed around a mouthful of bacon and eggs, "What prompted the marathon?"

Fred's elbow slipped, nearly sending his forehead straight into the tabletop, but the redhead caught himself just in time, snorting awake.

Chuckling, George declared, "Wouldn't think it to look at him, but the twin was struck by genius. We got kinda excited and lost track of time."

I smiled, ribbing both of them as I asked, "Well? Gonna tell me about the genius or leave me in suspense?"

"No point," Fred murmured sadly, "Didn't get anything really substantial done. It's a good idea, but it's only in beginning stages. We're going to need to do a lot more work to see if it's even plausible."

"You can still tell me about it," I complained, patting his knee, "Besides, I'm sure you're just being dramatic. You always get all frustrated when you can't figure things out right away."

Fred pouted, even when Rosmerta showed up with coffee refills and graced him with a brilliant smile and a fond pat on the head.

George was far more appreciative of the treatment, grinning and winking tiredly. "We're trying to come up with a charm," he explained, slurping more much-needed caffeine, "Sort of a packaged daydream. You use it wherever and get transported mentally. The in-class goofing off potential is huge. Aside from a vacant stare, teachers shouldn't be able to tell that students using them aren't really _there_."

"Sounds awesome," I beamed.

"Ya," Fred grumbled, "But we don't even know if it's possible or if we'll be able to make it small and portable enough to be profitable. So far, we haven't been able to balance any equations."

"You'll get it," I told them both, resolute, "You always do."

xxXxx

That afternoon, we sat in the bleachers near the lake and watched the champions go under. After a minute or so of staring at the surface of the water, I ventured aloud, "So... we're just going to sit here until they come up?"

"I suppose," George ventured, already looking immensely bored. And nothing good comes of George being bored.

"Awesome," Fred commented, snuggling up to my side and resting his head on my shoulder, "I'm napping then. Wake me when something interesting happens."

"Good thinking," George responded, getting comfortable on my other side and settling in for a nap as well.

"Big oafs," I teased quietly, smiling at the both of them. My best friends in the whole world.

xxXxx

Snug and warm between the twins, I ended up falling asleep, too. Really, whoever planned the task to be underwater wasn't thinking. There was no way for the rest of us to watch, and the whole production was rather uneventuful and uninteresting. I mean, no one in the wizarding world had ever heard of a Jumbotron?

But anyways, I woke to a commotion by the lake and, forgetting that the twins were asleep on top of me, immediately tried to stand to see what was happening. The only thing I managed to do was knock all of us off the bench and wake both boys in the process.

"Whu?" Fred grunted, blinking sleepily.

"Something's happening," I announced, shoving my way out of the twin pile to peer over the people who had risen to their feet in front of us. Near the dock, I could see a crowd of professors hauling one of the champions out of the water. I couldn't tell which champion, but whichever one it was didn't look to be in very good shape; the few skinny limbs I could make out were limp and bloody.

And I got the sudden thought that maybe it was Harry. My stomach clenched painfully; I started to shake.

By that time, the twins had managed to hoist themselves up as well and noticed fairly quickly that I was upset. Fred grabbed my hand, pressing a lingering kiss to my knuckles as he soothed, "Relax. He'll be fine."

"But what if he isn't?" I whispered.

"Kid's like a cockroach," George declared, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

He did not elaborate any further, and that alone made me laugh, kind of tearfully. I smudged at my eyes, trying to keep them dry and clear so that I could see what was going on near the dock.

After an awful wait, a tall healer stepped out of the way, and I was able to see the fallen champion's long blonde hair and know that it wasn't my baby godbrother. I was able to breathe normally again as most of the tension left my body.

Going back to sleep was no longer an option. The twins--being the gentlemen that they are--stayed awake, too, and kept me from getting too worked up and scared as the minutes ticked by with no sign of Harry. Cedric and Krum came up. Still no Harry. I could feel myself starting to cry. More minutes. Fred closing me in a tight hug, whispering soothing nonsense into my ear. George holding my hand tight, cracking stupid jokes and making me laugh even though I really didn't want to. Fred and George are the only reason that I didn't have another panic attack right then and there.

When Harry broke the surface of the water, I seriously started to sob. You know that expression that a weight has been lifted off your shoulders? Well, seeing Harry alive felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders and off my chest, my lungs finally able to open and get a full blast of oxygen, my heart uncramping and finally able to resume a steady, normal beat.

I wanted so badly to rush down there and see him, hold him, congratulate him on not fucking dying. But I couldn't. I couldn't just forget all the terrible things he'd done to me, no matter how much I loved the little bastard.

"Can we go?" I murmured, finally calming down, smudging at my eyes and resting my head on Fred' s shoulder.

"Course, love," he replied, pressing a kiss to my temple.

While most of the rest of the student body poured down toward the lake to gawk at the champions, the twins and I left the bleachers and headed back to the castle.

xxXxx

The whole thing with Harry got me feeling a bit down for awhile. It wasn't quite the borderline suicidal depression of the year before, but it wasn't fun either. I stayed in bed a lot, feeling tired and hopeless and alone. But I made sure to talk to Dr. Fairchild about it, just trying to keep it from turning into anything worse.

"The important thing about this situation is that you recognize the change in your emotional state," the kind old man told me, smiling softly beneath his graying push-broom moustache, "What we're here to do is give you the tools to deal with such changes in healthy ways. I'm very proud of you for wanting to talk about this, Stella. It's a very productive method for working through your feelings."

I smirked, sipping at a mug of hot lemongrass tea. "Does that mean I'm cured, doc?" I teased. It was sort of a running joke with us.

Dr. Fairchild chuckled in reply, folding his wrinkled hands over his crossed legs as he remarked, "It's certainly a step in the right direction... what kind of interactions have you had with Harry since coming back?"

Laughing, I answered, "Mostly he tries to apologize and I insult him. It's kind of our thing now."

_Hmm_ing thoughtfully, the good doctor made a few notes on his clipboard and stated, "I'd really like to see you sit down with Harry and talk to him plainly about what you're feeling. It's all fine and good for you to open up to me about such things, but, at least some of the time, the people you actually need to tell are your loved ones. Aside from yourself, they're the ones who are going to be affected, and they're the ones who are going to be able to do the most to the change the external factors that can influence your moods."

Sometimes, I hated it when he made so much sense. "Ya, I guess," I murmured, twirling my ring around my finger and watching the colors swirl. It was a kind of ugly combination of white, gray, and brown--sad, lonely, and confused. The colors remained for several days after my session was through.

xxXxx

That nasty article about Hermione came out. While most people got busy writing hate mail to Hermione, I... may have overreacted with respect to the author herself. But I can hardly be blamed for that; I've never possessed much self-control.

"Excuse me," I told the rather unpleasant-looking secretary in the mudslinger's front office, "My name is Leda Chiot. I have an appointment with Rita Skeeter."

"Yes, hello," the secretary beamed, "Ms. Skeeter will be ready shortly. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

I smiled sweetly, "Tea would be lovely, thanks. I'll just take a seat." I sat delicately in an ugly office chair in the hideous waiting area and flipped through back issues of the slimy rag that bleach blonde harpy wrote for. The whole ten minutes was a struggle to keep my outer appearance from betraying just how pissed off--and, ok, sort of insane--I was feeling. Messing with Harry was one thing; I still wasn't having very fond emotions toward the lad. But accusing Hermione of such nonsense was just bad journalism. The same kind of bad journalism that had given my family so much grief already. And I was not going to tolerate anymore of it, especially directed at people I cared about. People who absolutely didn't deserve it.

"Ms. Skeeter will see you now," the secretary announced, waving me towards a back office where, I suspected, Rita had been sitting alone with her thumb up her arse for the last ten minutes just to make me have to wait to see her. Ugh.

Rita Skeeter is a horrible woman on many different levels. She's a terrible person, of course, and an even worse journalist. She's also quite unfortunate in the looks department, sporting a heavy, square jaw, crunchy blonde ringlets, odd jeweled spectactles, and several mangy gold teeth. I didn't even want to shake her meaty hand, but I did.

"Miss Chiot," the bitch simpered, gesturing for me to sit opposite her garishly decorated desk, "It is a pleasure. I have been hearing_ so_ much about you lately, and so have my readers. They are _dying_ to know more."

"I'm glad," I replied, making sure the office door was securely shut and slyly sliding my wand out of my pocket, "I really didn't expect such a great reaction to my ads, but it's been an awesome kickstart for my career." I cast a few charms to secure the room, sealing it up tight and making it soundproof.

Skeeter prattled on about whatever. I concentrated on my plan of making the room impenetrable. After I accomplished that, the next step was to hit Rita and her stupid green quill with quick but powerful Confundus charms. With the woman so befudled she was practically drooling (and her quill spitting off some nonsense about crop circles and orange rodents), it was fairly easy for me to go about applying a super-strength hair-removal potion--courtesy of the twins--to her smelly blonde locks.

The potion needed about twenty minutes to be fully effective in ensuring that Rita's hair would all fall out within the day and very likely never grow back. So, with some time to kill, I decided to rifle through the woman's junk. She had notes on a lot of stories, some of which had already been published and some of which were still being written, all of which I artfully rearranged. I was slightly perturbed to find that she had preliminary notes not only on Leda Chiot, but also on Stella Black. The bitch was preparing two separate articles, one on each of my assumed names.

Luckily, she hadn't linked my fake persona with my real one (probably only because the pictures she had for Stella looked nothing like the ones for Leda; the Stella pictures looked substantially more sickly and insane), but I didn't want to take the chance that she might eventually make the connection. I saw to removing all traces of the Stella research from her possession.

It was at this time that I came across a very interesting document: a copy of a copy of a will that made me excrutiatingly rich.

The original will, Rita's notes listed, was in the possession of a lawyer named Fletcher Ronan. This will belonged to my grandmother, Walburga Black, and it basically said that anything she owned in life, my dad and I owned in the event of her death. It didn't look like this had been done intentionally, of course; it was just a stupid oversight on her part. Her will left everything to be split between her sons and grandchildren. My dad may have been blasted off the family tree, but he hadn't been disinherited (like we'd all kind of assumed). My Uncle Regulus died before he could have kids, so it was just me and dad who got _everything_.

"Holy fuck," I declared, leafing through a preliminary list of our somewhat substantial holdings and wondering why in the hell I never knew about any of them.

Getting to the last page of the notes answered that question: apparently, one Narcissa Malfoy had been paying off the lawyer. She'd been trying to find a loophole (like the kind she'd used to steal our house and all our possessions after dad had been arrested) but had been thus far unable. In the meantime, she seemed to be of the opinion that if she couldn't have the money and land, then no one would. For a small fee, Fletcher Ronan had kept the will and its contents hidden and the property listed therein in trust. Untouchable, for the time being, by anyone but me or Dad. Dad couldn't very well make a claim on his half, being a fugitive and all, so I was pretty much in charge of all of it.

"Maybe you're not such a useless bitch afterall," I told Rita, giving her a condescending pat on the arm. I would've patted her on the head, but the bubbling fuschia potion looked less than touchable.

xxXxx

After artfully covering my tracks at Skeeter's office--making sure she had a glowing story about Leda Chiot and no memory of what actually happened during our time together, not to mention a complete lack of interest in ever trying to further investigate or publish the Stella Black saga--I headed straight for my own lawyer's office. Mr. Besnick was a sweet old guy who had defended me in both of my criminal proceedings and was more than willing to take up my cause yet again.

Armed with Rita's evidence, we set out to confront Fletcher Ronan in his Knockturn Alley office. Long story very short, I left that office a whole lot richer; however, I also left with Narcissa Malfoy screaming at me, hurling insults and occasional hexes and pieces of furniture and threats of legal retribution. Ya, she sort of figured out who I was when Fletcher "Fuckhead" Ronan gave her the heads up that Stella Black had come to claim what was hers. Actually, the look on the woman's face when she walked in and saw "Leda Chiot" was sort of worth having to run out of there to a hail of spellfire and various debris.

"Thanks, Mr. B," I laughed, shaking hands with the man back in the safety of his building's lobby, "You're a total hero. Expect a big bag of galleons with your name on it."

Grinning proudly, the old man declared, "I'm always happy to help, dear. I'll go over all the holdings for you and have a comprehensive list by next week."

"Awesome," I replied, chewing nervously on my bottom lip, "I was actually really interested in the property. I remember someone mentioning to me that the Blacks used to live in some kind of super-secret hidden mansion. You can't find it unless you already know where it is. If you come across anything like that, put it at the top of the list for me, ok?"

"Of course," he replied, checking his watch, "I need to get to my next appointment right now, but I'll let you know when I'm done."

"Thanks!" I called, kind of ridiculously giddy, giving in to the urge to give the man a big hug and then bouncing out into the chilly evening.

xxXxx

I kept my recent acquisitions on the down-low at first, not wanting Uncle Remus to freak out prematurely. But, within a few days, Mr. Besnick got back to me and confirmed that one of the properties was a location in London that, as far as he could tell, did not have an address or any other sort of indications as to where it was situated. Based on the amount of research Narcissa had had Fletcher doing on finding the house, we both assumed that it was probably the fabled Black homestead, which had sealed itself off after my grandmother's demise to await the arrival of its new rightful owner.

At that point, I had to call Dad.

"_I don't want you screwing around with that house_," he warned me sternly, holding the enchanted mirror kind of close to his grubby face, "_Or with my bitch cousin. They're both dangerous, baby_."

"Daddy," I whined, rolling my eyes, relaxing on Fred's bed at the Burrow, "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. And Narcissa's kind of an idiot."

"_Don't underestimate _her," he growled, "_She's a lot meaner and crazier than she looks_."

"Well, at least she's got nothing on me in the crazy department," I chirped, "And I've got the psych file to prove it. Anyways, stop changing the subject. Don't you think that house would be perfect? I mean, it's close and hidden. I could see you all the time!"

He grumbled for a bit, reclining against Buckbeak's massive side in what looked like a dingy cave. "_It's a pit_," he insisted, "_Filled with nothing but dark magic and bad memories_."

"Well," I sing-songed, beaming, knowing that I was wearing him down, "I can help you clean out both. Come on, at least tell me where it is so I can go take a look. Or, better yet, take me there yourself and we can look around together!"

"_I'll think about it_," he sighed heavily, scratching at his matted black hair. He offered a weak smile before going on, "_What else is new, love? Harry was telling me your little boyfriend stole you a train for Valentine's Day. That true?_"

Beaming and blushing, I laughed, "Ya, he did. It was so sweet. We had dinner in the compartment where we first met, and we danced and talked. A perfect evening."

Dad hummed thoughtfully, declaring, "_I'll have to keep my eye on Casanova. He sounds a bit too slick for my liking_."

Rolling my eyes yet again, I answered, "Fred is pretty much the best boyfriend ever. I bet you'll really like him when you meet him properly."

"_I'll be the judge of that_," he insisted, both childish and menacing.

It made me laugh. "You'll see," I told him.

After a few moments, Dad dropped the threatening pout to observe, "_Your birthday's coming up_."

"Yup," I grinned, "Sixteen."

"_Excellent_," Dad said, smiling, "_Big plans?_"

I shrugged, stating, "Not yet, but it's the twins' birthday, too, so we usually do something all together. Besides, pretty much anything is going to beat last year. I had to spend my birthday in the looney bin."

Dad frowned, murmuring, "_Well, I guess we're just going to have to make this year extra special to make up for that, eh_?"

"Whatever you say, old man," I giggled, yawning hugely.

"_Go to bed, baby_," Daddy instructed sweetly, "_I love you, and I'll talk to you later_."

"Love you, too," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the surface of the mirror, "Night." I replaced the compact in its box and finished tucking myself into bed as well. I was asleep not long after.

xxXxx

In the morning, I had breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before they went about their days, then relaxed on the couch and brainstormed birthday ideas, studied a little for my upcoming OWLs. Around lunch time, I got bored and flooed to Hogsmeade and went in search of the twins, who were holed up on the sixth floor in one of their favorite unused classrooms.

They were kind of grumpy; they'd been stiffed on a bet during the summer by some idiot named Ludo Bagman. All their attempts to collect on the bet had been unsuccessful, and they were sore about it but still trying to get the man to pay up. Plus, they'd been inventing pretty much nonstop for several days, working on that charm that had not yet revealed itself in any useable form.

I tried to cheer them up with news of my newfound wealth. I even offered to invest in their business. But they said _no_.

"Why the hell not?" I complained, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring.

They didn't pay much attention to me, bent over a disheveled pile of papers and vials. Fred grumbled, "We're not taking your money, Stel."

"You wouldn't be _taking it_," I argued, "I'd be investing, buying a piece of your genius arses while they're still cheap and up for grabs."

"Thanks for the offer," George sighed, giving his hair a frustrated tug, not even jumping on the rich arse-grabbing innuendo, "But if you really want to help, all we need right now is for these equations to balance. We've been staring at the damn things for like three days and can't figure out what's wrong."

With a huff, I leaned against George's back, hugging him around the neck and looking over his shoulder at the pages of scribbled formulas and notes. I spotted the problem quite quickly, pointing as I declared, "These catalysts are out of order for the reactions you want."

Both boys took a closer look, snorting derisively at themselves. "Should've seen that," Fred grumbled, all cranky and pouty as his hand darted out to make the correction.

"Ya, you should've," I replied, twirling George's hair, "That's first-year stuff. You guys definitely need a break before your brains liquefy and leak out your ears."

"Colorful," George chuckled, winding one of his arms around my hips and yanking me down onto his lap, "What did you have in mind for this so-called break?" He shot me a smary, suggestive smirk.

I stretched my feet out into Fred's lap, laughing, "I dunno. Dinner. A nap. A nice broomride, perhaps. Anything to get you two away from inventing for awhile..." I sniffed George's shirt, wrinkling my nose and giving his chest a light shove. "Have you even been bathing? Merlin. Talk about obsessed! Some things really should not be sacrified in the name of discovery!"

They both had the grace to blush, at least, Fred lightly caressing my ankle as he murmured, "Just got caught up."

"You do have that tendency," I laughed, getting to my feet and pulling the twins up to theirs, "But it's my job look after you two oafs. Now, come on. Pack your junk and let's get to our break."

xxXxx

The break wasn't too exciting; we got food from the kitchens and relaxed on the twins' beds to eat it, talking and laughing. With their stomachs full, the boys didn't take long to give in to their obvious exhaustion and fall into deep sleeps. I tucked them in tight, left a note stuck to each of their foreheads reminding them to shower when they woke, and got on my way.

It wasn't too late by then, maybe eight o'clock, but (being that it was a cold Friday night toward the middle of March) the halls were fairly deserted, as was the library when I walked past there. Since I still had a lot of studying and catching up to do before my OWLs, I decided to hang out and take advantage of the quiet and the readily available textbooks. Being back there by myself was kind of weird, but I got over it. And I got a lot done, so that was good.

But I also lost track of time and stayed a lot longer than I'd originally intended. When I finally noticed the time, it was past midnight and I really needed to get back to the Burrow before Mrs. Weasley threw a fit.

So, ya, I was rushing. It was dark, and I wasn't watching where I was going, jogging and juggling a few scrolls of notes and books I'd decided to liberate. Actually, I was being sort of an idiot and trying to put them in order as I ran, squinting at my messy handwriting and the faded book covers, completely not paying attention.

I didn't notice the staircase directly in front of me until my foot met air as the first step dropped off. By then, it was too late.

xxXxx

The fall is only a vague impression I have of out-of-control movement and pain. I have no recollection whatsoever of hitting the bottom of the staircase, but that's where I woke, with a confused groan and a splitting headache and the cold contours of the stone pressed into my cheek.

I tried to move, but my whole body felt like one big bruise, my spine like it had been put through a blender. My right wrist was throbbing and swollen, broken, I later discovered, which totally explained the sharp spike of pain when I put weight on it in a failed attempt to get up. A rather large chunk of the right side of my skull felt absent. My eyes weren't really focusing correctly, but I was fairly sure that the large, dark, gooey puddle I couldn't manage to pick my face up out of was either blood or what was left of my brain leaking out my ear. Ha. Irony.

I was there for awhile, helplessly swimming in and out of consciousness until a rough, cool hand on my forehead made me flinch and moan. Sounding like it was very far away, a gravely voice delivered several loud, sharp orders about opening my damn eyes. With a great deal of effort, I cracked one open and made out a fuzzy, sort of mangled looking face very close to mine. But that was about all the sensation I could take, and I shut my eye again.

It was at that point that the mystery person must've decided it would be best to transport me to the care of medical professionals. I found myself levitating off the ground with a lurch, and that was it. That was all I could take of consciousness for the time being.

xxXxx

It was just a stupid accident, just me being a klutz and falling down the stairs and cracking my damn head open. However, given my history of being attacked and being slightly self-destructive (not to mention the fact that there was a purposeful jump from an eleventh floor landing in my past; unfortunately, the charm that had saved me that time didn't go into effect unless the fall was more than a story), people weren't immediately sure that something more sinsister or troublesome wasn't at play. Add onto that my recent financial acquisitions and run in with my crazy aunt, and there was yet more evidence to suggest that my accident wasn't an accident.

While I was passed out in the infirmary getting my head put back together Humpty-Dumpty style, Dumbledore dragged all the professors out of bed and had them do a sweep of the castle, just in cast Wormtail or some othe lackey of He-Who-Sucks-Dick (or even Narcissa Malfoy) was lurking around. When no one was found, Dumbledore sent for Remus and woke the twins, alerting them to the situation and making sure that I hadn't fallen back into a severe depression and tried to hurt myself.

They assured the headmaster that'd I'd been in pretty good spirits lately (for the most part) and that it wasn't likely my injuries were intentional. After that, there was really nothing to do but wait for me to wake up, which I did late the following afternoon, groaning in pain as the lights in the room assaulted my poor sensitive eyes.

"Stella," I immediately heard. The only thing I could tell about the voice was that it was much too loud. "Come on, love. Wake up. Open your eyes."

"Bright," I croaked, and was rewarded shortly thereafter by the lights in the room being extinguished. I breathed a sigh of relief, perfectly content to fall back into blissful unconsciousness.

"No way, Stel," that voice insisted, lightly brushing my hair back from my forehead. The tender gesture led me to conclude that the voice belonged to Fred; he tended to do that when I wasn't feeling well. "Open your eyes. Let me see your eyes."

Very grudgingly, I obliged and, sure enough, saw Fred's face floating above mine. George was next to him, Uncle Remus on the opposite side of the bed. All three seemed hesitantly relieved.

Slowly remembering what happened, I groaned yet again and complained, "Head hurts. Want drugs."

Uncle Remus chuckled, giving my uninjured left hand a light squeeze as he sighed, "You gave us quite a scare, love. What happened?"

It was embarrassing. My weak body struggled to conjure up enough blood for a blush. "Tripped," I whispered, still just wanting to sleep, "Fell. Stupid."

There seemed to be another collective sigh of relief, Fred once again petting back my hair as he cooed, "It was an accident. We're just glad you're ok."

My eyelids were growing more difficult to keep open with every second. And then I was out again.

xxXxx

After my accident was announced to have been... well, an accident, the boost in castle security was scaled back to normal. This gave Harry the opportunity and the brilliant idea to bring my dad--who, coincidentally, had been in the area--to see me.

I woke up for the second time to find Dad curled up beside me in dog form, resting his head on my stomach and watching me with big sad eyes. I smiled blearily, reaching out to scratch his ear. "Hey," I murmured, "What're you doing here?"

"He wanted to surprise you," I heard and turned my head to find Harry in what had previously been Uncle Remus's seat. Frowning in confusion, I took in some more of my surroundings, finding Uncle Remus entirely absent and Fred and George snoring in nearby cots.

I looked back to Harry, and my expression must have demanded some sort of explanation because the young man declared, "Dumbledore came by and made Remus go get something to eat. The twins sacked out a few hours ago." With a slight smile, he added, "Snuffles heard through the grapevine that you were hurt, and he couldn't stay away. He was waiting to surprise you on your birthday."

Glancing back to Dad, I saw that he had sat up a bit, that his big tongue was hanging out of his mouth as he panted happily.

I scratched his neck, weakly, and laughed, "That's weeks away. This is much better."

"Shame it only took you falling on your head, eh?" Harry chuckled nervously, ruffling his shaggy hair. He and Dad kind of had the same degree of shaggy going on. It was cute.

"Shrink says I'm supposed to talk to you," I coughed, gingerly pushing myself into a sitting position, wincing at the strain on my previously broken wrist and my still tender head, "Like, a serious talk. Not making you cluck or dance or anything."

"Oh," Harry declared, startled, "Well, ok. Ya... right now?"

I shrugged, "Might as well. I don't think I have too much to say. I'm just supposed to let you know how I'm feeling about our relationship."

He nodded very soberly.

"You're a jerk," I told him, paying more attention to lavishing Dad with head pats and neck scratches, "And I know you're sorry, and that helps, but I can't forgive you for what you did to me."

The boy hung his head, sighing, "I understand. I didn't expect you to."

"But you're still family," I continued, "And you still rank a helluva lot higher than than the Malfoy branch... I mean, I'm not going to forgive you, but I'm going to do my best not to hate you anymore, either."

The corners of his mouth twitched, wanting to curl up into a smile.

"So," I sighed tiredly, yawning and snuggling into Dad's warm furry body, "That's my shrink homework. If he should happen to ask, I did it. Took it serious and everything, right?"

"Completely," Harry remarked, giving his own very faux-serious nod.

I returned it and let my eyes drift shut yet again.

xxXxx

Madame Pomfrey kept me hostage for the rest of the day. She wanted to keep me for two more, but Mrs. Weasley showed up to insist on taking me home and making me stay in bed for a week. Neither option was thrilling, but I did need at least some of the rest. My head had taken some hardcore healing to put back together (skull fracture, you know) and still felt kind of weird, like it was filled with soggy cotton: heavy and sloshy.

We were waiting for Madame P and Mrs. W to finish deciding on the proper avenue for my care, Fred sitting beside me on the bed with his arm around my shoulders. He wound a short shock of blonde around his fingers as he quietly remarked, "I think you should stay here while you get better."

"I hate sleeping in the infirmary," I replied, "Smells like sick people in here." I snuggled my head under Fred's chin, enjoying the fact that I could do so again since Madame P had made Harry remove Dad; not that I didn't like having Dad around, but he'd growled rather menacingly every time Fred so much as looked at me.

Pouting, Fred complained, "Well, if you stay, then I can stay with you."

I laughed, teasing, "You do make an awfully good nursemaid."

He grinned, pressing his lips into my hair and murmuring, "Promise you a spongebath if you stay."

"Come on, guys," George complained from the foot of my cot, "We've talked about this. Unless Stella's getting naked, don't do the sappy couple thing while I'm in the room."

"Sorry, Georgie," I snickered, poking his twin in the stomach, "I'll try to keep Fred on a shorter leash."

"You can keep me on any length leash you want," Fred responded, waggling his ginger eyebrows and tickling my waist.

George let out a rather theatrical groan, flopping back into the cot and declaring, "This is child abuse."

"The only childish part about you is your sense of humor," I quipped, grinning.

He pouted, "Low blow."

Clunking steps at the entryway drew my attention just in time for burly man with grizzled dark gray hair to limp into the room. His face was covered all over with scars, one of which ran straight across a missing chunk of his nose. And one of his eyes was... weird. False and bulging, blue. Rolling independent of the other.

"So you did survive," the man murmured, voice all full of rocks and gravel, "Wasn't sure, what with the way you brained yourself."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to think of a response before finally settling on, "Well, hello to you, too."

He grinned. Or, at least I think he grinned. It was sort of hard to tell. "Where are my manners," the man chuckled, sarcastic, "Alastor Moody, your rescuer, though I wouldn't expect you remember much about it."

"Oh," I declared, "Oh, you found me and brought me in. No one really said who had. Thank you, sir. Thanks a lot. You probably saved my life."

Moody nodded gruffly.

I got the impression that he didn't really like me much and (other than my heritage) was at a loss as to the reason why.

"Just wanted to see if you'd survived," he growled, "Bye now." And then he just left.

I shared confused glances with the twins, finally observing, "That was weird."

"Ya," George agreed, "Moody's kind of a weird guy. Bloody good professor though. Really knows his stuff, and Dad's got nothing but nice things to say about him. He used to be an auror, you know. Took down some real nasties."

"I heard that around," I stated, perplexed. Something bothered me about the man, more than just the obvious of his abrasive personality and disfigured appearance and creepy fucking rolling eyeball and complete distate for me. But, thinking that I was being silly, I just tried to put it out of my head. My head had been through quite enough that week already.

xxxxxxxxxx

So that's that chapter. Let me know what you think :)


	20. What Fred Saw

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This chapter contains some scenes of a sexual nature. You have been warned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Part 20 - What Fred Saw

Aside from the obvious--that it was very painful and very nearly killed me--cracking my head open turned out to be a bit of a nuisance.

Most of the notes I'd made that night before the accident had been rendered useless after sitting in a pool of my own blood for quite some time. Several of the books I'd libereated (ok, _stolen_) from the library had also been damaged beyond repair. Not only did I face extra hours of studying for my OWLs to redo the notes, I no longer had ready access to the books with which to do so. And I was going to need to buy replacements if I wanted to safely set foot in the Hogwarts library ever again; Madame Pince was a very scary individual.

I didn't really mind having to purchase new books. I'd just come into a great deal of money, after all, and it seemed silly to be upset about something so trivial after surviving such a horrendous injury (dumb luck being on my side for once). However, Mrs. Weasley kept me mostly confined to bed for almost a week, leaving me with no opportunity to go out and find the books to buy. I had endless free time and nothing constructive with which to fill it. By the end of my bedrest, I was downright _eager_ to go bookshopping.

I was bored. Very, very bored. I tried to sleep, mostly, but could never manage to get more than a few hours at a time, always waking with a trembling gasp and a lingering feeling of all-over achy exhaustion and no idea as to what had disturbed me so.

I spent a lot of time pestering Dad, which he was thrilled with until I started in trying to convince him to tell me where the Black homestead was located and how to gain access. I can be stubborn, but I had nothing on Dad in that department. It was only around the third day that he got entirely fed up with me.

"_I said no, and I mean no_," he scolded, scowling at me through the two-way mirror, "_As far as I'm concerned, that awful house can stay locked up forever. It can burn to a pile of ashes._"

"Daddy," I whined, "You're being unreasonable. We need a safe house, and according to my sources, the Black manor is just about the most secure and hardest to find in all of England. Please?"

"_Absolutely not_," he snapped, clearly frustrated because I was totally not letting the subject drop. Actually, our conversations about the house were just about the maddest he ever got at me. "_End of discussion_," he declared. A moment later, he took a deep, calming breath and added, "_Sweetheart, you just don't understand how awful that place is. I'd show you if I didn't think you'd be irrepably scarred by it_."

"You're overreacting," I argued, "It was a horrible place because your mother was horrible. She's _dead_. It's just a house now. A house that could make things a lot easier for a lot of people, including you and me. Don't you want to be able to see me more often?"

Glaring, Daddy responded, "_That's going to work, love. You're not setting foot in the house, and that is final. Now, why don't you just get some rest? I have a few errands to run_."

"Fine," I huffed, knowing a brush off when I heard one, "But this isn't over." I hung up, flopping back into Fred's bed with a frustrated sigh.

Not quite ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley came in with a lunch tray. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked brightly, settling the tray in my lap. She felt my forehead, adding, "Have you managed to get anymore sleep? Are you sure you won't take a potion to help?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. W," I told her, as upbeat as I could force myself to be when I was really damn so tired and sore that I could scream, "Really. You don't have to keep fussing."

"Nonsense," she replied, smoothing down my hair, sneakily checking on the healed gash at the crown of my skull. Damn thing itched like crazy, and it was giving me a funny cowlick. "You split your head wide open," she said, "That takes time to recover from. It takes rest and solid sleep. Now, just relax and let me take care of you."

Laughing, unable to be at all upset with the caring older woman, I answered, "Alright. But can I at least go have a walk around the garden today?"

"We'll see," Mrs. W allowed, smiling, sitting on the bed, "I'm sure the fresh air would do you good. Maybe even tire you out a bit. But only if you finish your lunch."

"I think I can handle that," I declared tucking into a nice soup and sandwich.

Mrs. W stayed, still beaming at me. "So," she said, "I hear you and Fred had an eventful Valentine's Day."

Smiling shyly into my sandwich, I answered, "Ya. He set up a nice dinner for us in the compartment where we first met. It was really sweet."

"I'm glad, dear," she gushed, fondly patting my knee, "You two are so good together." Her eyes got kind of glassy and far-off as she stated, "A mother wants for her children to be happy. I know you make Fred very happy."

I felt myself blushing, but how could I hear that kind of thing and not be entirely touched? "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," I replied, softly because I was getting a little choked up, "He makes me very happy, too."

"Of course," she murmured, hand still a warm, solid weight on my knee, "And, dear, I've told you, call me Molly."

I smiled and she smiled and it was a very nice little moment for us.

"Well," Mrs. W finally declared, magicking a yarn-filled basket onto the bed between us, "I know you've been terribly bored being cooped up all the time, so I thought you might like to learn to knit to keep yourself busy. I can explain how while you eat, and then you can give it a try after your walk. Sound good?"

Laughing, I agreed, "Sure, I'm always looking for skills to add to my repertoire."

"Wonderful," Mrs. W beamed.

xxXxx

Despite Mrs. Weasley's patient lessons, I was pretty bad at knitting. But it was a great distraction. Making an ugly blue hat got me through the next few days of bedrest and sparse sleep, and, by the time I finished the project, Mrs. Weasley had given me a clean bill of health.

I went to bed early that night (as per the terms of our agreement), but sleep wasn't coming any easier and eluded me well past midnight. Mostly I think was just excited, thinking and planning for the next day. I wanted to go to Diagon Alley and hit the bookstore; I wanted to see Remus and Tonks and maybe Ozzy, too; I wanted to head to Hogwarts and visit with the twins, talk to them about what they wanted to do on our birthday and tell them the big news about me returning to school for the next year. I was even going to give my ugly hat to Fred. (Mrs. W had promised to teach me how to make socks next, which I was sure would be just as hideous and would be going to George; I hoped that he wouldn't get too jealous in the meantime.)

I wasn't asleep, but I wasn't fully awake either, my eyes closed while I drifted with my thoughts.

I heard the bedroom door open and close quietly but figured it was probably just Mrs. W checking up, making sure I was in bed. I didn't bother to move, staying curled on my side, facing the far wall. Maybe if I managed to convince her I'd gotten a full night's rest, she'd stop fussing so much.

But then, a few seconds later, the mattress dipped. I jumped but still wasn't too frightened. My cover was blow, so I rolled over and expected to find Mrs. W trying to feel my forehead or something of the sort.

Except I rolled over just in time to watch Fred sliding under the covers with a big smarmy grin.

"What're you doing here?" I laughed, immediately snuggling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me.

"Missed you," he murmured, pressing his face into my hair and inhaling deeply. His grip grew tighter, so tight and so safe and so starved.

I don't think I fully appreciated until that moment just how hard it was on Fred not having me around all the time. I knew he missed me; I missed him, too. But Fred's always been... I dunno. Physical. Not in an entirely sexual sense. Just... he likes cuddling, hugging. Waking up next to someone he loves. Seeing his favorite people every day, sitting next to them at breakfast and making them laugh.

Smirking against his lips as we exchanged heated hellos, I decided that I was pretty much the luckiest girl in the world.

"Did I tell you about next year?" I snickered, nipping at his strong, stubbly jaw.

"What about it?" Fred mumbled, practically melting as my fingers played lightly against his strong ribs, as his broad hands inched up the back of my tight t-shirt.

"I'm coming back to Hogwarts," I whispered into his ear, smiling when I felt him smile, "I get to skip a level and be in a class with you and George."

He pulled back to beam at me, blue eyes bright and ecstatic. "Better not be joking," he declared, drawing light, idle circles against my waist until I shivered from the ticklish sensation.

"Nope," I said, sliding one of my legs between his and kissing him soundly. After a few more minutes of soft kisses, we broke apart for air, panting heavily and pressing our foreheads together. "So," I teased, tracing the cuts of muscle across his stomach, "Not going to get sick of me once I'm around all the time, are you?"

Fred snorted, countering, "Absolutely not. You going to get sick of me?"

"How could I?" I asked, letting my fingers swirl delicately down the ridges of his abs, "You're always so surprising. Like now, showing up in my bed in the middle of the night."

"In all fairness," he taunted very smugly, "This is _my_ bed."

I smirked, answering, "True. But I've been keeping it nice and warm for you."

"You certainly have," Fred answered delightedly, "Men go their whole lives without getting half as lucky."

We kissed again, slow and soft but quickly growing more heated. Frenzied. I peeled Fred's shirt over his head, and he hesitantly but reverently returned the favor, easing me down onto my back and hovering over my sprawled form with an absolutely awestruck expression. I couldn't help blushing as he just stared down at my naked chest. Feeling suddenly, intensely shy, I did what I pretty much always do in slightly uncomfortable situations: I made a joke.

"See something you like?" I asked, smirking, fighting down the uge to hide beneath the covers.

Seeming to come out of a trance, Fred shook himself, looked up and into my eyes. "You're just..." he began, stammering as he tenderly traced the curve of my cheekbone and jaw, "You're so beautiful."

I blushed, laughing nervously again and glancing away.

But Fred just used that as an opportunity to swoop in and begin mouthing kisses all along my throat, ghosting his free hand up my quivering stomach as he murmured, "If I were as gorgeous as you are, I'd spend my whole life naked, twirling about in front of a mirror."

Trust Fred to send me from nervousness to absolute hysterics with just one line. I could barely breathe from laughing so hard, shoving the boy down onto his back and straddling his hips because, as strange as the remark was, it was also quite thrilling, empowering to hear that he thought of me in such a way. And it pretty much eliminated any nagging thoughts of self-consciousness or doubt. Because, no matter what, I was still with Fred: goofy, dorky, idiot best-friend Fred. Who loved me like crazy and thought I was twirl-about gorgeous.

"You, Mr. Weasley, are oddly poetic," I declared pointedly, greatly amused by the way he was utterly hypnotized with my breasts, by the way he couldn't seem to look away from them for more than a few seconds. By the way both his hands hovered in midair like he wanted to touch but wasn't sure if he should.

I leaned in and kissed him, guiding his hands to where he obviously wanted them and moaning deliciously as his thumbs flicked back and forth over the tight buds of my nipples. When I pulled away once more, Fred was impossibly more starry-eyed, grinning dopily inside the intimate curtain of unruly blonde hair spilling around both our faces.

"It's hard not to be poetic with inspiration like you," the redhead babbled quietly, smirking but utterly sincere, one rough palm trailing to my flannel-covered backside, pulling me in closer, "I am forever in awe of your beauty and wit and charm, stunned and infinitely thankful that you choose to grace me with your love."

"That's quite enough now," I replied, torn between laughing and getting all misty eyed, "Sweet and eloquent as you are, I have no intention of allowing you to talk me out of anymore clothing for tonight." I ground my hips into his, making slow, steady circles and smirking as Fred pretty much lost the ability to speak entirely, let alone eloquently.

It didn't really take long until he was gasping into my mouth, bucking off the bed with an unrestrained full-body shudder. Clinging to me and panting damply into my hair and trembling like he'd run a marathon.

I was perfectly content to just lie with him for however long he wanted, but, after only a few minutes, a problem arose concerning the conspicuous wet spot I could feel through the front of his trousers. And I was just a bit squeamish about having to sit in it. Without thinking, I reached for my wand on the bedside table.

Fred's arms wrapped immediately around my waist. "Wait," he panted, grip clumsy but strong, eyes wide and panicked, "Wait. Stay."

Smiling brightly, I brushed a feather-light kiss across his slack lips. "I'm not going anywhere," I reported, finally getting at my wand and waving off a quick cleaning charm.

Fred yelped like I'd burned him, doubling up and spluttering, "Bloody hell! What was that for?"

"Sorry," I responded, trying not to laugh and not particularly succeeding, "I just... didn't think you were so attached to lazing about in soiled trousers... did I hurt you?"

Shaking his head, Fred seemed to come back to himself a bit, pushing me off him and back down into the mattress again, positioning himself between my spread legs as he bitterly chuckled, "Stung a bit. More startling than anything though... For future reference, there are certain areas of the male anatomy upon which cleaning charms and most magic in general should not be performed, at least now without proper warning."

I shot him an apologetic, sympathetic smile, chirping, "Noted."

Fred placed his hand on the inside of my thigh, pretty high up and creeping higher, almost to the hem of my soft flannel shorts. I just... wasn't expecting it, felt instantly flighty and anxious. Without me really willing it to do so, my hand shot out to stop his. It was... just too much. I hadn't even touched myself like that since... Claire... And I guess I wasn't ready yet to have Fred touch me like that either.

Fred frowned down at me worriedly, backing off a bit as he questioned, "Are you alright?"

I nodded jerkily, very aware that I probably didn't look alright at all. "I-" I lied hastily, badly, "I thought I... heard something. Someone coming up the stairs."

Fred removed his hand from my thigh, instead reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair. "Stel," he declared very seriously, "You've got this really, really freaked out look on your face. I didn't... I mean, we don't have to... when- when you want me to stop, just tell me to stop."

"Stop," I immediately replied, feeling foolish and cowardly but relieved nonetheless when Fred rolled off me, hugged me tight against his chest and brought the covers up around us.

We didn't speak for a few long minutes.

"Sorry," I finally murmured.

Fred's arms tightened around me, his broad chest rising and falling in a long sigh. "Don't be," the young man declared, "I'm not looking to force you into anything. But you have to talk to me, you know? I don't read minds."

"Sorry," I repeated, aware of how weak and feeble the answer was.

Again, Fred sighed. I could feel him twisting my hair through his fingers.

"Will you stay?" I asked softly, cuddling closer, "Just... for a little while?"

"Of course," Fred answered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to my forehead, "Long as I can."

I laid awake for a long time, staring off into the darkness.

xxXxx

I must've fallen asleep at some point because I woke to Fred shaking me. "Whu?" I grunted, frowning unhappily as I blinked up at his worried eyes.

"You looked like you were having a bad dream," he whispered, stroking a concerned hand down my naked back.

"Hmmph," I responded, still exhausted but entirely awake. And it was morning, anyways, feeble light filtering in through the closed curtains. I stretched a bit, wincing at the persistent ache throughout my whole body. "Time is it?" I slurred tiredly.

"Early," Fred replied, shifting beneath me, "So were you?"

I yawned. "Were I what?"

"Having a bad dream," Fred said, drawing light shapes down the curve of my spine.

Shrugging, I grumbled, "I dunno. Maybe. I think I've been having them for a while, but I can never remember what they were about once I wake up. Kind of makes it hard to sleep, not to mention the run-over-by-a-hippogriff after effects."

"Oh," he answered. After a brief beat of silence, he added, "George and me, a little while ago, we were trying to tweak the sleeping draught formula so that we could control what kinds of dreams people have. It didn't really work out, but we did stumble on a recipe for dream walking."

"That's impossible," I laughed, "Dream walking is a myth. You can't just go into other people's minds while they're asleep and see what they're seeing. Not without using legilimency or dark magic, and even those aren't a sure thing."

I felt Fred shrug, chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. "I just know I kept ending up in Ron's head. All that kid ever dreams about is giant spiders. Made me feel kind of bad about us turning his teddy bear into one when he was a kid, even though he totally did have that coming."

"If you say so," I said, humoring him, connecting freckles on his taut stomach, "But you're not suggesting you use it on me, are you?"

Fred shrugged again, arm tightening around my shoulders. He said, "I wish I had the pleasant dreams potion to offer, but, for the moment, this is the best I can do. You'd be surprised how much dreams reveal and how much better you'll feel once you know exactly what your subconscious is all in a twist about."

Snickering, I replied, "I suppose... let me think about it."

"I'll start the potion once I get back to Hogwarts," he laughed, rolling onto his side in order to wrap both arms around me and press a kiss to my forehead. Waggling his ginger eyebrows and grinning wickedly, he added, "Of course, you'll have to come sleep over. We can camp out somewhere, just us."

"Sneaky," I told him, feeling safe and warm in his grasp. Without really meaning to, I fell back into sleep.

xxXxx

When I woke the second time, Fred was gone. It was late morning, and I'd slept a lot longer than I meant to but this time without whatever had been plaguing my dreams before; I was feeling refreshed and, miracle of miracles, actually rested.

I sat up, in a pretty decent mood and in a rush to get out of bed, and saw that Fred had left a small origami butterly on the pillow beside my head. Laughing, thinking of how utterly sweet my boyfriend was, I tried to pick the little trinket up.

Only Fred had charmed it. The second I touched the thing it came to life, fluttering into the air and around my head, glowing faintly red. I was mesmerized and downright giddy by the time the butterfly finally touched down on my bare right knee.

I transferred the creation to the bedside table and then finally got dressed and ready for the day. I breezed through the kitchen, graciously allowing Mrs. W to fuss over and overfeed me. And then I was off.

I went to the bookstore and found replacement texts for the ones I'd ruined. I got a late lunch with Remus (Tonks was, apparently, off somewhere in Italy on mission). I popped in and said hi to Ozzy, and I even got a quick appointment in with my lawyer, Mr. Besnick. He was happy to report that my grandmother's will had made me even richer than he'd originally estimated; still no news about the hidden Black manor, though, which was just a bit frustrating.

Coming out of Mr. Besnick's office, I already had the twins on my mind; I was already planning on going to see them as my next stop, hoping that I wouldn't find them in yet another unbathed, unrested workaholic frenzy. I was thinking about how hard they had been working lately, how unusually stressed they seemed...

I came out of Mr. Besnick's office and, right there, right across the street, was a billboard advertizing a spa in the countryside.

"Perfect!" I decided.

xxXxx

The twins looked at me like I was nuts.

"You realize that we both possess boy parts," George stated skeptically, "Right? I mean, we're of the _male_ persuasion. You are aware of this, correct?"

Rolling my eyes, I countered, "Men go to spas, too. They're very relaxing. And I've always wanted to try one. We can go the day before our birthday, and then, if you don't like it, we can still do whatever you want on the actual day of. Please? It's my treat!"

The twins shared one of their Significant Looks that I absolutely hate, prompting me to huff and glare impatiently.

Fred took that as his cue to take a turn trying to talk me out of the idea. "Stel," he said very soothingly, slinging an arm around my shoulders (at the same time keeping one eye on the row of bubbling cauldrons the boys were working on), "I don't know if a spa is really the right place for us. All those quiet rooms and such. We probably wouldn't fit in."

"They have private spa packages," I declared, showing him one of the many pamphlets I'd obtained from a quick recon mission, "We can have rooms to ourselves to be as loud or as quiet as we want in. It'll be great! There's massages, and facials, and body wraps, and mud baths. I mean, mud baths! You guys love mud!"

"We did, when we were five," George scoffed, already back to concentrating on their various creations.

I scowled at him and then turned back to Fred, pouting sweetly.

He sighed but didn't give in. "You don't need us if you want to go," the redhead stated, "There are plenty of girls you could take. I'll bet Mum would love it, or Tonks, or... uh... Ginny..." I think he realized my distinct lack of female company and hastily abandoned the argument.

"You guys are my best friends," I answered, sad and dejected, "It wouldn't be the same. It's not like I'm asking you to put on heels and minis and strut through the Great Hall. Just give it a chance! I'll bet you anything you'll really enjoy yourselves."

"Anything?" Fred asked, clearly losing his resolve, grinning like he couldn't pass up the opportunity to make such a wager.

"Anything," I replied, biting seductively on my bottom lip. Hehe. Works every time.

His expression grew starry and dopily pleased.

I so had him. And once you have one twin, you have both.

George groaned theatrically.

xxXxx

In order to soothe the sting of his having agreed to the spa day, I agreed to stay the night at Hogwarts and try out Fred's little dream walking potion. I mean, I didn't think it could do any harm. I wasn't getting great sleep, but I figured that if I were actually dreaming anything bad, I'd remember it when I woke up. Since I never managed to remember anything, I didn't think it could've been that terrible. I didn't think Fred would be seeing anything that terrible (if the potion even worked at all, and I still wasn't quite convinced it would; I thought it was more likely he'd just come up with a mildly hallucinogenic substance; he had done so on more than one occasion).

"What'd you tell my mum?" Fred questioned, making himself comfortable in a big squashy bed in the Room of Requirement.

"That I'd be studying late and didn't want to end up rushing home and getting hurt again," I replied, brushing my teeth and washing my face and changing behind a nearby screen, "She just said to be careful and to make sure I got to sleep at a decent hour." Chuckling around my toothbrush, I added, "She didn't even ask about where I'd be sleeping."

I heard Fred snort, heard him choking down his dream walking potion as he declared, "The don't-ask-don't-tell? Man, she must really like you. Charlie went on a camping trip once with one of his girlfriends. Mum charmed their clothes to their bodies."

Beaming at my own reflection in the mirror, I answered, "We did have a talk. She was very sweet about us being together."

"Plus teaching yout to knit," Fred laughed fondly, "That's practically your own hand on the family clock. By the way, when can I expect you to graduate to sweaters?"

"When my hats stop looking like lopsided throw pillows," I answered, rinsing my face and letting my hair out of its ponytail, shimmying into a pair of soft pajama shorts and a tight tanktop. I emerged from behind the screen, smiling crookedly as I crossed the room and climbed into the bed. "You don't really have to wear that hat," I told Fred, situating myself beside him, propped up against the headboard, "I know it's not very good."

He grinned at me, bright and genuine. "I like it," the redhead murmured, taking my left hand in his right, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles, "You made it for me. Besides, it's got character."

"Right, _character_," I snorted, descending into giggles as Fred snaked his arm around my waist and tickled me lightly.

We just sat together for a few moments, close and quiet and content. I connected the freckles on Fred's bare abdomen, finding a fish and a star near his navel. I fluffed the thin trail of dark red hair that disappeared into the waist of his boxers, smiling when he squirmed.

"I'm sorry about last night," I told him, nervously biting my lip as Fred twirled my hair through his broad fingers. "It wasn't anything you did," I added, "I just... psyched myself out, I guess... I should've said something instead of being all weird and awkward and making you feel bad. I'll try not to repeat the behavior."

"I appreciate that, love," Fred laughed, resting his head on top of mine, "Like I said, I don't want you doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just have to talk to me." I felt him smirk as he added, "It was... really spectacular up until the weird awkwardness. I was only trying to make you feel as amazing."

"I know," I said, smiling shyly up at him and offering, "Are you averse to trying again?"

Flashing a dazzling white smile, Fred leaned in and kissed me. Swift and simple. "You read my mind, gorgeous," he said.

I grinned, straddling his lap. Throwing my arms around his neck and laughing into his mouth.

It was a bit of a heated blur after that. Our kisses and touches quickly went from tender and playful to frantic and needy. I don't remember exactly when my shirt disappeared or who was responsible, but suddenly I was arching my back, mindlessly trying to get more of the heart-stopping sensation of Fred's lips dragging all over the soft, sensitive swell of my breasts. His huge hands caressing every inch of bare skin he could find.

"Gods," I gasped, rolling my hips into his, hanging onto his shoulders for dear life. Whimpering when his fingers slid tentatively into my shorts.

"Ok?" Fred murmured, sounding strained and just as blissed out as I was feeling. Just as aroused, his own shorts shouted.

I gave a jerky nod, a slightly embarrassing broken-off whimper. An even more embarrassing growl when Fred's fingers didn't immediately move to satisfy the spiraling need he had been thus far so helpful and enthusiastic in initiating.

I grew almost immediately impatient, placing my hand over his and encouraging it onward, hissing deliciously when his fingertips brushed my slick folds, when I demonstrated the wonder that is the clit and then let Fred take over. Learn by doing and all that. He caught on quickly.

Immensely enjoying the shocky, shivery waves of pleasure cresting and crashing all over my body, I wondered how I had managed to go so long without experiencing the feeling. Lingering betrayal and trauma after my disastrous encounters with Oliver and Claire had made me forget some very important things about myself, namely that orgasms were awesome and that I enjoyed them in all consensual forms.

As I sucked and licked deftly along Fred's neck and collarbones, as I dragged my hand down his rippled chest, stomach, into his shorts and took hold of his thick cock, as I cried out with ecstatic laughter when Fred groaned deeply and nearly bucked me off, I absentmindedly resolved to stop letting wounds and mistakes from my past influence anything about my present. Fred wasn't the one who hurt me. He would never. And I didn't have to be afraid anymore, not when I was with him. Fear would only keep me from pleasure and love.

Besides, as great as I thought orgasms were before, they were nothing compared to having ones with someone you do truly love. You stare into each other's eyes, and it's like your souls are rising out to meet one another. It's hot. Intense. A little frightening but in a good way. And when that moment comes, that soaring upward ride and then that weightless, breathless fall... well, there's something to be said for having someone to fall with.

Afterward, collapsed in a careless heap, limbs tangled, lungs starving, skin sweaty, and muscles trembling with aftershocks, Fred and I clung to each other. Carressed each other softly, clumsy and awed. Whispered, over and over, "I love you... I love you... I love you..."

We fell asleep like that, and I don't remember dreaming.

xxXxx

"Stella! Wake up!"

I ached and absolutely did not want to be conscious.

"Stella! Stella, wake up! Wake up right now! We have to go!"

"Huh?" I grunted, squinting up at Fred, wondering why he was awake, why he looked so utterly freaked, and especially why he felt he had to be shaking me urgently by both shoulders.

"Get up!" he ordered, eyes wide, hair sticking out at adorable angles, "We need to go see Dumbledore! Right now!"

"Five more minutes," I pleaded, closing my eyes. All I could think about was how tired and sore I was, even more than I'd been feeling since my accident. I just wanted to sleep.

"NO!" Fred screamed, startling me vertical, shaking me roughly once more, "DO NOT GO TO SLEEP!"

Shocked and troubled by my boyfriend's behavior, I didn't even have time to inquire what the fuck his problem was before he physically dragged me out of bed and toward the door. "Wait!" I shouted, struggling weakly, grabbing my discarded tanktop off the end of the bed and escaping the hold long enough to put the damn thing on. I'm fairly certain Fred would have dragged me out of there topless otherwise. As it was, he barely allowed me that dignity before he seized my hand once more and pulled me out of the room.

It was very early in the morning, somewhere around two or three. I thanked my lucky stars that the halls seemed entirely deserted.

As soon as I had done so, we rounded a corner and ran into who else but Professor Snape.

Of fucking course.

His expression wavered among the usual smelled-a-fart sneer, the often-seen smug I've-got-you-know-rulebreaker smirk, and an entirely new what-the-holy-fuck-is-this? eyebrow vault. The finished product was entirely unbecoming, even more so than normal.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Black," he drawled, staring down his nose at us (probably through no fault of his own), "I... don't even know where to begin. Would you care to explain yourselves?"

"We need to see Dumbledore right away!" Fred panted, still just as wild and manic, clad in only baggy boxer shorts. He didn't seem bothered by his state of undress, and, seeing as how I was wearing only skimpy pajama bottoms and a very tight tanktop, sans bra, I couldn't have conjured any sympathy for him anyways. I noticed a hickey on his neck, and my answering blush was possibly an impending attack of spontaneous combustion.

Snape looked both of us up and down, making me feel distinctly cheap and slimy. "Yes," he murmured, "Perhaps the headmaster is better equipped to deal with this situation. I'm sure he can make the arrangements you require. Fifteen is a bit young to start a family, after all."

"I'm not bloody pregnant, you twat!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, utterly, utterly mortified, even more so when the shrieking declaration echoed back.

"_Twat... twat... twat..._"

I covered my flushed face with my free hand, hoping for the floor to open up and swallow me.

"Of course not!" Fred crowed, outraged, "She's just in danger! Someone's torturing her in her dreams!"

"What?!" I cried, "You can't be serious!"

Fred turned to face me, jaw set stubbornly. "I saw it, Stel!" he insisted.

He looked so... convinced.

"I was there and I saw it," Fred told me, voice cracking slightly with terror and fear, like a little kid who'd just woken from the worst nightmare of his short life, "And you need help, alright?"

Too stunned to do anything else, I just nodded mutely.

xxXxx

Walking through my dream, Fred saw a long dungeon hallway, a locked dungeon door. No matter what he did to the door, it would not open. So he watched through a small barred window.

I was on the ground, my legs tied together and my arms tied behind my back. Rats were crawling all over me, and I was sobbing, screaming for help.

There was a man seated in the shadows in the far side of the room; Fred never saw his face but heard him just fine.

"Tell me where he is," the mystery man demanded, laughing as I cried out for Fred, for my daddy. "Yes, your daddy," the mystery man went on, "Tell me what hole that mutt's crawled into, and I'll make all the icky rats go away."

Even though I was completely hysterical from terror, I still managed to snarl, "Fuck you! Fuck you, I'll never tell!"

"Must we do this dance night after night?" the mystery man sighed, twirling a wand through his skeletally thin fingers, "I'm going to find your daddy eventually. He's just running around out there in the open, after all. If you tell me now, then I can stop paying you these lovely visits. _Crucio_."

I writhed and wailed, every muscle and tendon pulling taut, stretching. Snapping.

"This _is_ ever so much more fun than real life though," the mystery man snickered when I'd finally stopped screaming, was just a messy, jibbering puddle of what used to be person. "So much more painful," he said, "Without those pesky natural or magical laws to hold us back... and we can play for so much longer before you go mad on me."

"I don't know anything," I whimpered, "I don't know. Please. _Please_."

"Oh, I think you know exactly where he is," the mystery man cooed, mocking and sickly sweet with just a tinge of frustrated anger, "But it's so dark inside your head, love. That's not my doing. You keep everything about yourself hidden in the dark, and that makes it very difficult for me to find what I'm looking for."

Another disinterested _Crucio_. Another round of excrutiating shrieks. Fred saw my shoulders separate from their sockets.

The mystery man chuckled, "All I'm finding is nonsense about your silly phobias and your tender lustings for your little boyfriend... Oh. Oh, here's something interesting... who's Claire?"

In another corner, a person took shape, stepped into the dim light. A thin, tall teenage girl with a sleek curtain of unnaturally long, dark hair.

My whimpers grew more hysterical as Claire approached, as she knelt at my side, smiled, petted my hair. "Why, Stella?" she asked quietly, leaning in close until our lips almost touched, "I loved you."

"STOP!!!" I sobbed, trying and failing to crawl away, "STOP, PLEASE!! STOP!!"

"All you have to do is tell me what I want to know," the mystery man sing-songed, tapping his foot in time with some internal beat, "It'll all be over, and I'll leave you to your happy little-girl dreams."

Claire had her hand on my thigh, moving higher. She crooned endearments, declarations of undying devotion, threats and filth.

Fred saw all this and didn't try to stop it. Because he thought it was just a dream, because he couldn't get through the door and save me from my own twisted subconscious. He would've tried, he said, if he could've gotten through the door.

Having been thus far fairly silent in his efforts, Fred decided that he'd seen enough, that my dream indicated that I was anxious about my own safety and my dad's. Fred decided that he could stop the dream, so he tried to get through to me in another way: he shouted my name through the bars.

I didn't seem to hear him but the mystery man did, suddenly vanishing and reappearing in the hallway. He wore a Death Eater mask and robe and seized Fred by the throat, hoisting him effortlessly off his feet.

Fred said that in all the testing he and George did of the potion, neither of them had ever felt any real pain or danger while inside other people's heads. They'd fallen through windows and off brooms, been shot with arrows, hexed, cursed, jinxed, punched in the face. But it had felt like... experiencing a mere phantom of the sensation. It had never felt like it was real, like the dream walker was in actual mortal danger.

But the mystery Death Eater grabbed Fred around the throat, stuck a wand into his ribcage, and Fred couldn't breathe and thought that he was really going to die.

"How the _fuck_ did you get in here?" the Death Eater snarled, cold fury replacing disinterested frustration.

Fred gasped and kicked futilely, confused and scared and very freaked out. Slowly blacking out to the sound of further demands for answers, further echoes of my helpless, horrified screams.

"And that's when I woke up," Fred explained, still shaking as he recountered the story in Dumbledore's office, refusing to let go of my hand, "And I knew it wasn't a real dream. Someone's been torturing Stella for information about her father. That's why she hasn't been able to sleep well, why she's been sore and tired, and why she can't remember her dreams anymore. She's been cursed or something. You have to fix it."

Dumbledore stared at us from across his desk, across his thoughtfully tented fingers. "This is a very serious matter," he stated quietly, "Are you-"

"I'm _sure_," Fred impatiently insisted, "You can take the memory and see for yourself, if you want, but just do it quick and then help Stella!"

"Very well," Dumbledore replied. He sighed heavily before declaring, "I'm going to need to confiscate all your notes on this potion, Mr. Weasley. Professor Snape will escort you to your workspace, and you will turn over all relevant data."

"What?" Fred and Snape both gaped. "Sir," Fred complained, "Aren't you going to-"

Cutting him off, Dumbledore sternly declared, "If what you say is true, then this potion is essentially an open doorway into the minds of others. It would be not only unethical, but also irresponsible for me to allow you to remain in possession of such a formula. Did you think, at all, about what would happen if the potion fell into the wrong hands? What might've been done to Stella is extremely dark magic, but it is also very complex, difficult magic that could not have been carried out by most wizards and is seldom used for that very reason. A potion, however, has the potential for mass production and distribution. Anyone could use it, and no one would be safe."

Obviously contrite, Fred hung his head, muttered, "Sorry, sir."

"Severus," Dumbledore stated in reply, "Please see that Mr. Weasley gathers all notes and all samples pertaining to the potion. And then confine him to his dormitory until I can think of a suitable response to his actions."

Grumbling and reluctant, Fred followed Snape when the greasy potionmaster swept out of the room. But not before the redhead gave me a quick kiss, whispering, "Don't go anywhere, alright? I want to see you later."

"Ok," I agreed, still kind of in shock, still kind of numb.

Once they were gone, Dumbledore offered me a seat, a cup of tea, and a blanket. Probably because I was still half-dressed and shivering. The old man regarded me carefully, peering over the top of his spectacles.

I squirmed a bit under the scrutiny, knowing that I was in trouble and wondering just how much.

"I think it goes without saying," he began, "That I'm disappointed in your behavior this evening. You are afforded a great deal of trust, and I would hope that, in the future, you would think twice before violating it in such a flagrant and frivolous manner."

"Whatever you think we were doing," I defended, "You're wrong. I mean... I didn't think Fred's potion would really work. And we weren't... It was harmless. It's not like we were actually having sex or anything."

The tiniest bit uncomfortable himself, Dumbledore coughed, "Since_ you_ are not currently a student at my school, I believe I will leave it up to Mr. Lupin to decide what you were or were not doing alone in a bed with your boyfriend in the middle of the night, and to discipline you accordingly."

I sounded so much more screwed when he put it like that...

"As for what Mr. Weasley witnessed in your dream," the old man went on, "It does sound very much like you have been the victim of a curse. I would like to consult a specialist before I say anymore on the subject, but keep your schedule clear. You will most likely be traveling to meet him as soon as I can make the arrangements."

"Sure," I agreed, eager to have the curse lifted.

Nobody said anything for a few minutes.

Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and offered, "May I _accio_ your clothing?"

"I would really appreciate that," I replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

I really enjoyed writing this one, haha. Hope it shows and is appreciated accordingly :)

(PS, do I really have to keep putting sexual content warnings on the chapters? I kind of feel like it should be understood by now that my dirty mind nor my dirty language will be censored...)


	21. Sweet Sixteen

Part 21 - Sweet Sixteen

"You could've let me say goodbye to Fred," I pouted, rather resentful of the firm hold my godfather had on the back of my neck as he guided us through the crowded Cairo marketplace. "It would've only taken a second, and I told him I would."

Shooting me a barely civil glance, Remus responded, "You may not be aware, but you are in absolutely no position to be making complaints right now. Let's just get this curse taken off you, and then we can worry about how you're going to be punished for being so uncharacteristically stupid."

"I already told you that nothing really happened!" I countered, hating the brilliant pink blush that had been present on my face since Dumbledore made me confess the situation and all its sordid details to Remus less than an hour earlier.

"I don't want to hear it," he growled, "You've been given a great deal of independence since you came back, but I am still your guardian until your seventeenth birthday, and I am _obviously_ going to have to keep a closer eye on your whereabouts and your company."

Abruptly dodging a large bearded man trying to sell me a handful of overripe figs, using the opportunity to duck out from beneath Remus's guiding hold on my neck, I argued, "You know, the only reason we even know about this curse is because Fred was being such a good friend and boyfriend."

"And he can certainly be both of those things without laying his hands on you until you're of age," Remus snapped.

"You're acting like he was taking advantage!" I crowed, apparently losing the ability to filter my own thoughts, "It was my idea!"

"Stella," Remus snarled, somewhere between irate and horrified, "Stop. Talking."

Again, I had apparently lost that ability. "And even if we had been having sex," I argued bratily, "It's no one's business but our own! We are both highly intelligent and completely disease free! We love each other!"

Remus whirled on me, looking a lot more pissed off than I'd seen him in ages. "You are not yet sixteen," he hissed furiously, "What do you know of love?"

"You've never risked your heart, not once in your entire life," I countered, not backing down for a second, not pulling any punches, "What do _you_ know of it?"

And then we had ourselves a bit of an epic stare-down, right there in the midst of the marketplace. His gleaming gold eyes locked with my icy slate-blue ones, neither of us willing to let the other win.

Fighting with Remus had gotten so much more difficult since I'd decided that I was just as much of an adult as he was. It's not like I was trying to be mean or to make my godfather's life difficult; he had certainly done a wonderful job of caring for me all those years, a job that I appreciated and treasured more than he could know. But... that just wasn't enough anymore. After everything I'd been through, obedience for obedience's sake was no longer an option. Even if I didn't always make the best decisions, they were my decisions to make, no one else's. Not even a man I loved and respected, a man who was practically my father (maybe not even my actual father, if it came down to it) was going to keep me from living my life in whatever way I saw fit.

"Um, hi," a familiar voice interrupted a few long moments later, Bill Weasley's handsome freckled face swimming into focus just beyond Remus's shoulder, "Am I... interrupting?"

"Not at all," I chirped, breaking away and hopefully leaving the argument behind, running to give Bill a big hug, "How've you been, mate? Keeping out of trouble?"

With a smirk and a light peck on my cheek, Bill answered, "Doing a better job of it than you have, apparently. How on earth did you get yourself cursed?"

Shrugging, I complained, "I don't know. Dumbledore didn't want to say until you'd had a look at me. I think he was just busy with other things."

Bill chuckled, ruffled my hair. "Wanted to leave it to the expert, more likely," he declared. There was something different about him, and it took me until that moment to figure out that he was without his ever-present leather jacket, just a slightly dingy, dusty white t-shirt stretched across his long lean chest. Which made sense, I reasoned, as the weather in Egypt was not exactly jacket weather. (Of course, after the frigid spring we'd left in England, the toasty afternoon was kind of amazing; I was wearing shorts and a spaghetti tank in March, and it was awesome!)

Remus and Bill shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and then we all headed for Bill's flat, a quintessential bachelor pad located over a dive bar and complete with sparse, shabby furniture and more quidditch and bikini girl posters than food in the fridge. But Bill was Bill: he was a twenty-five-year-old boy, and I wouldn't have expected anything else.

"Can I use your owl to send a letter to Fred?" I asked immediately, shooting Uncle Remus a small scowl when he huffed and rolled his eyes.

Puttering around in the kitchen as he scraped together a large pot of unusually strong, sweet coffee, Bill replied, "Um, ya. Tut should be on the balcony, and I think I've got some parchment and quills stuck out there somewhere. Help yourself."

Bill's owl was a big, dark beast with huge, intimidating yellow eyes. But he was really a kitten, hooting and jumping excitedly, nuzzling my arm while he waited for me to scribble out a quick "sorry, don't panic, see you soon" to Fred. I gave Tut a few owl treats and sent him on his happy, hyperactive way. Leaning on the balcony rail, I took a moment to admire the view of the marketplace, peering out over flat rooftops and narrow streets and, far in the distance, a shimmering stretch of desert.

When I stepped back inside, Bill and Remus immediately stopped their hushed conversation, which led me to the conclusion that my hijinks and I were its subject.

"So," I ventured, snagging a hot cup of coffee straight off the burner, "Have we figured out what's wrong with me?"

Bill smirked, lounging lazily against the counter. "Sounds like a low-level Trapdoor Curse," he answered, "But I'll have to get a better look before I know for sure."

"Hmm," I said.

"Basically, Trapdoor Curses create passages," Bill explained, "You put a Trapdoor in someone's mind, you can get in and poke around. But they're very, very difficult to perform properly and even more difficult to perform without the subject knowing because they require that a physical hole be made in the structure you wish to infiltrate. Well, actually scholars are divided about whether it's the blood and bone sacrifice that's required or whether the cursed actually needs the physical passage. I say it's both."

"Bill thinks that you were probably cursed last week when you cracked your skull," Remus added very plainly.

"But that was an accident," I argued, "I tripped. I'm pretty sure no one did anything to me."

Bill shrugged, blue eyes hardening. In a very professorish tone, he said, "Most likely a crime of opportunity then. Someone came across you while you were unconscious at the bottom of the stairs or possibly in the infirmary, and they used the fact that you'd cracked your skull to put this curse on."

"Then it was someone from inside Hogwarts," I whispered, "A teacher or a student. I mean, it's not like Death Eaters routinely hang around the castle waiting for me to trip and fall on my head."

"Well, you are closely related to Tonks," Bill joked dryly, "It's not exactly a bad bet that you'll be falling on something at some point."

"Haha," I deadpanned, giving him a light smack on the arm, "You do realize that this means Hogwarts has a spy. _Another_ spy. Hell, it's like Dumbledore has a yearly quota for hiring traitors or something."

Remus shot me a disapproving glare.

"Well, what's with the dream thing then?" I questioned, ignoring my guardian, "Is that usually how the curse manifests?"

Bill shook his head, bright ponytail swishing as if it had a personality of its own. "No," he murmured, "Like I said, it's a difficult curse to perform properly, and whoever did it likely didn't have very much time. You were either gravely injured or under observation in the hospital wing. I think the person screwed up and put the door into your subconscious rather than conscious mind. Then all he could get at were instinctual things, fears and passions, stuff like that, and only when your conscious mind wasn't working to suppress them. And dreams, well, they're ruled by the subconscious, so that's the only time the person could not only have free reign to poke around, but also could wrestle your conscious mind into the whole process to help him find what he wanted. It's a common mistake, actually. Some historians think that improperly performed Trapdoors are responsible for a lot of incubus and succubus sightings. The dream and sleep disturbances take on similar forms, and the victims manifest most of the same physical symptoms as their bodies gradually start to become affected from the abuse they suffer in their dreams."

"Creepy," I declared.

Bill finished his coffee, smiled, patted my shoulder. "Don't worry," he soothed with a cocky grin, "You're with the expert now."

"You're really getting off on that _expert_ thing, aren't you?" I teased.

He had the grace to blush, a little, at least. "Get comfortable on the couch," he instructed, "This might sting a bit."

xxXxx

Three hours and more than dozen heavy-duty zaps to the noggin later, I was curse free. Unfortunately, I was also feeling like I'd gone a few rounds with a bare-knuckle boxing champion, dizzy and achy and nauseated.

Bill said I should stay on the couch, rest, but I was too stubborn. I insisted on going out, walking it off, exploring as long as I had traveled so far. It was early evening by then, the marketplace even more impossibly crowded, hot and dusty, blindingly bright as the intense sun passed through extreme angles on its way to the horizon. The wizarding sector we were in was a place called (loosely translated) Saladin's Walk. The architecture was almost exclusively ancient Islamic and Coptic, fat minarets and low stone archways, open-air vendor stalls.

Even though I wasn't at my best, I quite enjoyed taking in the sites. Last time I'd been in Egypt was the summer before, and I had steered very clear of wizarding areas (I'd been on the run, after all). But Saladin's Walk was... interesting. Certainly a lot different than Diagon Alley. Rougher and livelier, crowded, saturated in rich, intriguing sensations at every turn.

We got a quick dinner, dolma and lamb kabobs that we ate while we walked. Bill played tour guide, expounding at great length on the history and the sights, and the whole experience was just nice. Fun. I really was feeling better after an hour or so, buying pieces of exquisite fresh fruit and tart, sugary candy to munch on for dessert, wandering into small shops and browsing the unusual selection of magical antiquities.

I bought an old Egyptian puzzle box, sort of like a morphing Rubix cube but with many more rows of intricately carved wooden sliders that would form new pictures every time they were solved. And, the seller assured me, solving the puzzle would also open a hidden treasure compartment, one where secrets could be both kept and revealed (depending on the needs and moods of the solver). I thought it would make a cool birthday present for George, as he did have a bit of a fondness and talent for such logic games.

Fiddling with the toy as we walked, I explained my motivations to Bill, who was pleased to hear that my birthday was coming up along with the twins'. He got a bit more secretive with his own shopping after that, clearly looking for presents for all three of us.

I still didn't have anything for Fred, so that's what I was really looking for as we wandered along, almost back to Bill's flat after doing the whole long loop that was Saladin's Walk.

A small, dim bookstore drew my focus, and I made my way inside, thinking that maybe I could find some rare potion manual or ingredient guide.

But there were only a few tightly packed shelves of books in the front of the store, concealing a narrow, quiet room where an old woman sat hand-spinning fine white cotton. Her eyes were open wide but unseeing, a milky film covering her black pupils and nearly black irises. They looked a bit like cataracts, except wizards have simple potions to eliminate cataracts. I thought it must be spell damage and wondered how it had happened, if it had been terribly painful.

"_Would you like to sit?_" she asked in Arabic, her voice surprisingly clear and steady for how old she looked (practically ancient, silver hair and dark, hawk-like features).

"_Yes, thank you_," I replied, also in Arabic. I wasn't nearly as fluent as Bill, but I'd been getting along just fine and enjoying the chance to practice. I took a seat near the old woman, on a low mound of plush, satiny pillows at her side. I watched and admired the fluid, graceful movement of her old gnarled hands as she went about her work. "_My name is Stella_," I finally said, relaxing, realizing that my feet were a bit sore from all the walking, that my limbs and eyelids were heavy, "_How are you this evening, ma'am?_"

"_Creaky but content_," she replied, thin, dark lips curling mysteriously, "_You speak well, Stella. Very well, for a Westerner. What is it that you seek?_"

"_A birthday gift_," I explained, lulled by the almost overwhelming smell of incense, the smothering heat and soft candlelight, "_For my boyfriend._"

Again, the old woman smiled, staring right at me but not quite. Just a bit off. "_You love him_," she said, "_Very much. There isn't a doubt in your mind..._" Chuckling, she added, "_Usually the young ones reek of doubt. Certainty is refreshing... What sort of gift are you looking for?_"

I shrugged, murmuring, "_That's the problem. I don't know, and nothing really seems good enough._"

She hummed thoughtfully, never stopping her spinning. "_Give from the heart_," she said, "_And you cannot go wrong_."

"_I know you're right_," I told her, yawning sleepily, smiling, "_I should stop worrying... this is just the first official gift I'm giving as his girlfriend rather than goofy best friend._"

"_You say that as if being one means you cannot be the other_," the old woman observed slyly, "_Love built on friendship is often the strongest kind_."

"_Well, I certainly hope so_," I laughed, suddenly so tired. I realized that my eyes had fallen shut and fought to pry them open, to keep them that way. The effort was futile, and I couldn't understand why I was so damn exhausted.

I felt the old woman's hand on my head, thin, bony fingers combing through my unruly hair. I didn't know when she'd started, when she'd stopped spinning and reached out, but the soothing touch pretty much sealed my gentle slide into sleep.

Just before I completely tuned out, she pressed her thumb very softly right between my eyebrows. She said, "_May all your loves be long and your heart be strong enough to bear them_."

xxXxx

I woke on a couch at the back of the bookstore, the narrow sitting room and the old woman both gone. (And when I say gone, I mean, fucking vanished without a trace that either had ever existed.) Bill and a middle-aged shopkeeper were standing over me, looking baffled and concerned.

"Up you get, little one," Bill ordered quietly, scooping me effortlessly off the couch, despite my feeble protests, "I knew I should've made you stay in. Falling asleep in random public locations can't possibly be good for you."

I was confused, a little frightened, and demanded to be put down.

Bill refused to oblige, carrying me out of the store with a curt, "You're going home and straight to bed and getting pumped full of potions. No way am I letting you get sick on my watch ever again. If Mum doesn't kill me, then Fred surely will."

"But I'm not sick," I argued weakly, blinking owlishly at my surroundings, at the night that had fallen and the shimmering stars and pale crescent moon that had already risen. "I was..." I said, "I was talking to someone. An old woman. She was blind, and we were in a different room... she made me sleep, I think."

Smirking, Bill gave a relieved sigh and finally set me down onto my feet but kept me tucked tight against his side. "An old blind woman put you to sleep?" he asked as we walked along.

I thought he was making fun of me, so I scowled and replied, "Yes."

"Then you probably met Hathor," he laughed.

Gaping stupidly, I managed to squeak, "What?"

"It's just a legend, really," Bill explained, beaming dopily, "Hathor's the ancient Egyptian goddess of love. There've been stories going back the last hundred years or so of an old blind woman in Saladin's Walk who talks to young girls who are in need of advice on subject. The girls fall asleep, and when they wake up, she's gone. The girls pretty much always go on to marry their true loves and live happily ever after, have lots and lots of babies." He shot me a quick wink, adding, "Some people say that it's Hathor they talk to, others think it's probably just be some old sorceress having a bit of fun. Either way, the name stuck."

I blushed scarlet all the way up to my hair, squirming nervously and noticing a single strand of fine, hand-spun white cotton tied around my left wrist.

xxXxx

I was kind of torn for awhile about whether or not to leave the string around my wrist, but in the end I did. Bill checked the thing for all kinds of curses and jinxes and hexes and spells and found none, so I figured, why the hell not? The Hathor stories were all good ones; goddess, sorceress, or whatever, she didn't seem like a malicious being. And I thought the strand was pretty, thought that, maybe, it would bring luck. I couldn't tell you if it ever worked, but it never fell off; it never grew dingy or worn, stayed pure, perfect white no matter what I did to it.

Remus and I took an international floo connection back to England the following morning. He then declared that I was grounded, and I had myself a bit of a laugh and went shopping.

With the old woman's advice in mind, I strolled Diagon Alley and browsed for Fred's birthday gift, finally settling on a really neat old bronze pocket watch. It had like a dozen different faces with different functions that could be flipped through by turning the winding dial. It had a clock, of course, one that kept perfect time and date. It had a little moving star map that would match whatever was really going on overhead at any given moment and location. It had a compass, a speedometer, a timer, temperature and depth gauges, and several other interesting gadgety type readouts (all waterproof, of course). The coolest feature (I thought) was a smooth mirror face. Struck by genius, I went all the way to Dublin tracking down a book about how to spell and sync two-way mirrors (as well as an old book of lewd cartoons that I couldn't resist purchasing for George). I went back to the Burrow and spent the next six hours or so making Fred's mirror able to call mine and vice versa. Once I got all the incantations down, making another simpler one for George was much easier.

The day after was the spa day. I collected the twins from Hogsmeade, and we flooed to the beautiful countryside location. Fred and George remained unenthusiastic but resigned to their fate, at least until our personal and very gorgeous masseuses showed up and encouraged us to strip completely and don thin towels before getting our first massages of the day.

"Oooooh..." George moaned, practically goo as a pretty blonde witch (probably part veela) kneaded his freckled shoulders, "This... is... amazing..."

Fred made a low noise of agreement. He was getting the same treatment, limp and occasionally sighing happily.

"Glad you're enjoying yourselves," I snickered breathlessly, quite thrilled with my own rubdown at the hands of a burly but baby-faced brunette wizard.

The massages went on for awhile, followed by facials and body wraps. The boys were still a bit skeptical but again ended up happy, more relaxed than I'd seen them in months. And all our skin looked really great; those magical spa products were just fantastic in every way.

We had lunch on a garden terrace, just the three of us in the sunshine and unbelievably fluffy robes and slippers. It was our first opportunity of the day to have any sort of extended time to talk (since we'd all been so caught up in relaxation), so I regaled the twins with the story of what happened while I was in Egypt. They were concerned yet fascinated, but we quickly moved on to other crazy stories, jokes that had me practically doubled over with laughter, such as how George got back at Fred for getting their dream walking research confiscated...

After lunch we were given mud baths, each in our own beautifully tiled tub. We talked more, joked around for about an hour. We then rinsed off and were taken to soak in an enchanted outdoor hot spring where we swam and splashed, jumped off the rocks. We were rowdy, but no one else was around to complain.

Once we got bored of that, we went back inside. I got a luxurious manicure and pedicure, complete with leg and neck rubs, while the boys each got another deep-tissue massage. It was getting on into evening by then. We'd spent the whole day being pampered, and by the time we left, the twins had been so thoroughly relaxed that they could barely walk straight.

I got them all the way back to Hogwarts before smugly declaring, "I win."

Hugging me from behind, practically asleep on my shoulder, Fred yawned and murmured, "Ya, ya. So what would m'lady like to claim for her prize?"

"I'll think of something," I giggled, tugging George back from the wall he was about to walk into, "For now, let's just say you owe me."

Nuzzling my neck, Fred laughed, "Fair enough."

xxXxx

April Fool's Day 1995 was absolutely amazing. I slept over the night before, the twins having smuggled me into their dorm, so I got to wake up with Fred's arms around me. I got to tease him awake, and we both got to start off our birthdays with a very slow, sensual make-out session that ended quite happily for the both of us.

After all the other roommates had left, Fred and I emerged from his bed to find George waiting impatiently. He immediately demanded presents.

"It's the least you can do," the pouting redhead argued, "Especially since I didn't get the same nice wakeup as my uglier half."

"Don't be jealous, Georgie," I said, flipping the wrapped book and puzzle box and enchanted mirror at his head, stuffing Fred's pocket watch and a handmade scarf to match his hat into my boyfriend's capable hands, "We'll find you a girl yet. Try not to get too chaffed in the meantime though. Hand lotion is your friend."

"Evil," he grumbled, catching a lumpy package from Fred, throwing both of us our own presents.

When we had all been sufficiently gifted, we counted to three and dove in. There was a mad flurry of wrapping paper, cackling laughter.

I tried and failed not to crack up when I saw that Fred had gotten and enchanted George a rather realistic blowup doll, as well as an impressive assortment of single-player activities such as a set of playing cards with stripping women on them. On a more serious not, he also got his brother a new beater bat.

George got Fred a beater bat, too. In addition, he also got a book of dirty jokes and a new secret invention that George was calling "Instant Cold Shower, for the Frustrated and/or Overindulged." George encouraged his brother to use it rather than stealing me away so often.

From George I got some new joke products he'd been testing, a pack of exploding bubblegum, a pair of thick Geek chic glasses that made you look awake when you weren't and would whisper answers into your ear if you happened to be asked something that was covered during your nap, and a pretty bottle of sweet perfume that changed scent depending on the wearer's mood (I think he must've added pheromones because the stuff drove Fred absolutely crazy). He also got me (ironically) a bottle of lilac and lavender hand lotion from the spa.

Fred had made me a charm bracelet. Well, I guess he didn't make the bracelet part; that was just a simple silver chain he'd found in a second-hand shop, but he did make the charms. There was a turtle, and its shell opened to reveal a cute picture of the twins and I hugging and shoving and laughing (tapping the head three times brought up a very old picture of Remus and my mum and my dad in much the same pose). There was a shaggy, fluffy dog that wagged its tale and would bark and lick the inside of my wrist when I was feeling sad. There was a little book whose pages fluttered occasionally and showed random quotes and useless-but-interesting facts (such as how Amish communities experience the highest incidence of twinning in any known human population). There was a little ball of soft, gleaming white light (a star, Fred claimed proudly) that would glow as bright as a small sun whenever I found myself in need of it. There was an owl that could be detached and covertly sent off short distances with small message scrolls clutched in its beak. There was an impossibly intricate dreamcatcher. There was a tiny model of a human heart, and it throbbed in time with my boyfriend's strong, steady pulse.

"It's beautiful," I said, grinning brilliantly, pulling the unbelievably sweet redhead into a long, lingering kiss. After he cleared his throat, George was given a similar yet entirely unromantic hug and kiss.

We stayed in the dorm for awhile, all playing with and admiring our presents, opening more when they arrived from various friends and relations. We got candy and books and clothing and toys, and, around the time that I was lounging against Fred's broad chest and perusing the very thorough text on Ancient Egyptian Mythology that Bill had sent me, Harry appeared in the doorway.

"Hi," he said, smiling shyly, "Um. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, little bother," I replied good-naturedly, "Want some licorice? Charlie sent me about a half ton of it."

Grinning, relieved at his reception, Harry wandered further into the room and accepted the treat. "Thanks," he quipped, munching, "I, um, I have presents for you guys, but you have to come with me to get them. They're a surprise."

"Surprises are good," George declared, quite happily fiddling with his puzzle box, "However, dragging my arse out of bed is not. Better be worth it, mate."

Harry chuckled, only a bit nervously. "It is," he assured us, "Promise."

"Alrighty," I replied, diving enthusiastically for a change of clothes, "Let's get this show on the road."

xxXxx

It was sort of understood that the twins and I did not attend class on our birthday, never did during our entire school careers; sometimes we didn't even go to class on the days before and after, depending on how epic the party got. However, we did our best not to flaunt the holiday too blatantly to staff members, so Harry guided us down deserted hallways with the Map in hand. Our destination was quite obviously the Room of Requirement, and we arrived quickly. Harry conjured a door, and led the way into a small, dark replica of the Gryffindor Common Room.

As soon as the twins and I stepped inside, the lights came on, and people jumped out from behind couches, threw streamers and conjured small sparks and shouted, "SURPRISE!"

I laughed joyously as my eyes swept around the sparse but happy group of partygoers. I saw Ron and Hermione, of course, Ginny, Uncle Remus, and-

"DAD!!" I shouted, flinging myself immediately into the old man's scrawny arms, burying my face against his freshly scrubbed neck and trying not to cry from sheer happiness.

"Happy Sweet Sixteen, my baby girl," he murmured, sounding a bit choked up as he hid his gaunt face in my hair, "Merlin, I missed you." His hug got almost painfully tight, but I didn't care. I hugged him back just as hard.

A bit caught up in ourselves, we failed to notice that the embrace had gone on for quite a bit longer than was strictly necessary, that the others present were watching fondly, waiting patiently for it to be over. When it finally was, Dad and I pulled back and beamed each other, my feet barely skimming the ground.

Then Dad looked over my shoulder at the twins. His expression grew hard, slightly scary, and he growled, "I can't tell which of you is the one who was caught in bed with my daughter, so you both might want to run for your lives."

"Daddy!" I scolded, smacking him lightly on the chest as he set me on my feet but kept his arm around me, "Be nice." Smiling quite gleefully (because I'd wanted to introduce them for awhile--though, ideally, under better circumstances), I guided Dad over to the very startled-looking twins and gushed, "This is my best friend George. And _this _is my boyfriend, Fred."

"Uh. Hi," Fred stammered, clearly shell-shocked, anxious, maybe even a tad horrified as he bravely held out his hand, "It's really nice to finally meet you, Siri- er, uh. Mr. Black." He did his best to hide a wince when Dad took his hand and tried to crush it rather than shaking it.

I nudged my father, once again scolding, "Be nice! That whole thing wasn't Fred's fault! Besides, he pretty much saved my life. How about a thank you, huh?"

Fred was trying frantically to stress with his expression alone that I shouldn't push his luck.

Dad just seemed a bit disgusted by the very thought, but, after I stared pointedly for a few moments, he finally turned back to Fred, glared, and gritted, "How 'bout I hold off on pummeling you, and we call it even?"

"I'm good with that," Fred hastily agreed, voice rather high. He elbowed his brother when George began to snicker.

Rolling my eyes, I allowed my father to steer me away from the twins and towards a table packed with food. The exact varieties made me smile. "Pineapple upside-down cake and spaghetti sandwiches?" I chuckled, "Merlin, I haven't had those in years!"

"They were your favorites, right?" Dad ventured somewhat worriedly, hugging me tight against his side, "I mean, when you were little. We can get something else-"

"No way!" I crowed happily, snagging a ridiculously messy and delicious sandwich off the platter, "It's perfect!" I took a big bite, probably smearing spaghetti sauce all over my face and not caring at all. "Mmm," I hummed brightly.

Dad grinned, stress melting out of his crinkled blue-gray eyes. He laughed and pressed a kiss into my hair. "Well," he said, "You'll have to thank Harry. This whole thing was his idea, and he set most of it up. Under my direction, of course."

I giggled, turning to shoot my timid godbrother a wide smile and a quick wink.

From where Fred was giving him a speech that began with a light punch and a hissed "Some damn warning would've been nice!", Harry smirked right back at me.

Everybody sang and had cake. The twins and I opened more presents, mostly books and joke stuff. Ginny got me sparkly earrings. Harry got me a weird little stone person statue that he'd charmed to dance and cluck on command. Dad got me a really snazzy pair of black motorcycle boots that I insisted on putting on right away and wearing for pretty much the next three weeks straight.

Dad only had a two-hour pass to the castle (Dumbledore's orders), and he and I spent that window being pretty much inseparable and never shutting up (he spared a bit for glaring and growling at Fred, refusing all my attempts to make the two engage in conversation, but that's a separate issue). When the time came for him to leave, I did my best to be brave, to not run after him and make him stay with me. Harry took the Map and took my dad under the invisibility cloak and guided him out of the castle.

I slumped against Fred's shoulder, happy and sad all at the same time, enjoying the brief moment of alone time while everyone else was distracted by George's outrageous and spot-on impression of Professor Snape. I sighed heavily when my boyfriend slipped his arm around me, kissed my forehead and chuckled, "I don't think your dad likes me very much."

"He'll come around," I said, smiling warmly, "He's a bit hung up on the 'caught in bed together' thing for the moment, but I'm sure it'll pass."

"Ya," Fred agreed, blushing, leaning in close so that no one else could hear when he whispered, "I'm sorry for almost dragging you out of there topless. I wasn't exactly in my right mind."

"It's ok," I laughed, "I understand, given the circumstances. Just don't expect to be forgiven so easily if it ever happens again."

He smiled, leaned in and kissed me quickly. "As for the dream," he began, hugging me closer when I immediately tensed, "We'll talk about it when you're ready, ya?"

I sighed, smiling weakly, murmuring, "Soon. Just not today."

"Anything you want, love," Fred responded.

The door opened, but instead of Harry returning, in walked Cedric Diggory.

Kind of floored by the unforeseen presence, I didn't react right away, not even when he saw me from across the room, waved, and came over to take a seat on the couch.

"Happy birthday," the Hufflepuff stated genially, flashing that pretty-boy smile that had won the hearts of the majority of Hogwarts's female population (and probably a good chunk of the male one as well, if we're being honest).

"Thanks, mate," I laughed in reply, still confused but unconcerned, "Didn't expect to see you here."

He shrugged, perfect brown hair falling in his perfect gray eyes. "Harry invited me," the sixth-year declared, "Sorry I'm a few minutes late, but _some_ of us still go to class on April Fool's." Turning his smile to Fred, reaching out to shake my boyfriend's freckled hand, Cedric added, "Even if venturing out on the holiday has proven to be a bit hazardous in the past."

Chuckling wistfully, Fred remarked, "I forgot about that. Third year, right? You got caught in the cloud of fog that turned everything all sparkly."

"Oh ya!" I crowed, cackling with the memory, "One of our earliest and best, right, Fred? Merlin, McGonogall was _pissed_."

"Ya, well," Cedric answered, chuckling with an exasperated grin, "She can hardly be blamed. Our entire class was picking glitter out of strange places for the next two months."

Fred and I put our heads together and snickered deviously.

"Anyways," Cedric chuckled, producing three wrapped gifts from the inside of his book bag, "These are for you guys and George. It's just some sweets from Honeyduke's and joke stuff from Zonko's. Oh, and it's from Cho, too. She wanted to come but couldn't make it. She said to say 'happy birthday' from her."

Grinning brightly, I chirped, "Make sure and tell her thanks from us."

"Sure thing," Cedric answered, relaxing into the couch, summoning a sandwich from the table across the room. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then pried open the bread. "Is this..." he questioned uncertainly, "Spaghetti? A spaghetti sandwich?... Is that a muggle thing?"

"No," I laughed, winking brightly, "It's a Stella Black thing."

xxXxx

When asked later about his unexpected addition to the guest list, Harry merely shrugged, said, "I heard Fred and George talking about how you got along well with Cedric. And Cho walked over while I was inviting him... I told them not to come until after I knew Sirius would be gone. Was that ok? I mean, you don't mind about Cedric coming?"

I smiled, cuffed Harry lightly on the arm. "Of course not," I told the boy, "Cedric's one of the few people at Hogwarts I actually like interacting with. And Cho's pretty decent as well, if only for having shot you down so thoroughly."

Harry offered a shy smirk, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Good," he said, "I hope you had a good time."

"I had a great time," I replied, figuring, what the hell, and pulling my startled godbrother into a quick hug. "Thanks," I told him as I pulled away, ruffling his messy black hair, "It was a nice surprise. And don't worry about Fred being pouty. He and George are going to throw themselves a rager in the common room later anyways, and there was no way you could've known Dad was so furious with him."

"Ya, that seemed a bit much," Harry chuckled, "Probably had something to do with the 'caught in bed' comment, though no one seems to know anything about it..." He smirked expectantly.

With a bright grin, a slight blush, I explained, "Oh, it's a long and X-rated story. Nothing to concern yourself with. Just focus on not getting assassinated or otherwise maimed until next we meet, alright?"

"Alright," he laughed, looking pretty darn chipper. Proud of himself, I realized. He'd set out to do something sweet for me and had succeeded. There wasn't anything wrong with the boy being pleased over a job well done.

"Stella," Remus called, returning from what he'd said was a quick errand but had quite obviously been a stern talking to with my boyfriend out in the hallway. My old uncle clapped Fred on the shoulder (only a little harder than necessary), let him move to my side and put his arms around me. "We should get going," Remus went on, not exactly thrilled at my boyfriend's proximity but not outwardly incensed either, "Molly is expecting us for an early dinner."

"Our own mother didn't even invite us home on our birthday," George complained as he wandered over with a giggling Ginny slung over his broad shoulder, "I feel slighted."

"You know very well she just doesn't want to encourage your delinquency," Ginny laughed, torso hanging limply down her brother's back.

"Besides," I added helpfully, "McGonogall owled about you and Fred dropping prototypes into the puddings on the Slytherin table last week. I just _barely_ talked your mum out of sending a Howler. You might want to give it a bit more time before a face-to-face meeting."

George nodded somberly, quipping, "Good call."

"Stella," my old uncle said once more, fond but impatient, "It really is time to go."

Huffing, I sighed, "Fine." I hugged everybody and was only saved from being thrown over George's shoulder by Fred's decision to throw me over his own. While shrieking with laughter and helplessly kicking my feet, I decided that my sixteenth birthday was pretty much my favorite so far.

xxXxx

Weeks passed without much fanfare. I studied for my OWLs, sat for a few more photoshoots with Ozzy, and did my best to see the twins as often as possible, which was hard since Remus actually followed through on that threat to keep a closer eye on my company and whereabouts; it seemed like my old godfather was suddenly always around, always following me, always running interference on my being alone with Fred. The worst part was that I couldn't really be mad at Remus, especially because he kept insisting that he just missed me and wanted to spend more time together.

Tonks returned from her mission and also made it her duty to constantly hover, which was also difficult to be upset with since my cousin was fun and funny and extremely helpful with preparing for the OWLs. I think people forget just how smart she was, but the girl didn't get sorted into Ravenclaw and accepted into the Auror program for nothing.

"They almost didn't take me," she told Remus and me one afternoon while we were enjoying a lunch of Chinese takeout on the floor in my godfather's one-room flat, "I had all the right qualifications and pretty much perfect marks, but I almost failed their silly 'background and character' check."

"Because you're related to my dad," I declared, frowning into a box of greasy fried rice, shrugging noncommittally, "Well, I guess it's a good thing that I'd rather eat broken glass than work for the Ministry in any form."

Chuckling, Tonks added, "It's an even better thing that you're all independently wealthy now. Gives you a bit of wiggle room as far as career choices are concerned."

"Speaking of which," Remus murmured quietly, "Do you have anything in mind for when you leave Hogwarts?"

I shrugged, stabbed my chopsticks into the rice a few times and stated, "Not really. Ozzy's still owling me almost daily for modeling jobs. Apparently, I'm his muse."

Tonks sighed dreamily. She'd met Ozzy the day before and was a bit smitten. I had yet to break the news that, short of metamorphing herself a set of permanent boy parts, she didn't stand a chance with the handsome photographer.

"That's... nice," Uncle Remus said, looking uncomfortable both at my declaration and my cousin's reaction.

"Or I could always make the twins hire me," I offered, just because I knew the thought would disturb Remus greatly.

As expected, he couldn't seem to keep himself from frowning. "Do you really think that would be the best use of your talents?" he questioned carefully.

"My particular skill set is uniquely geared toward the mischief arts," I teased, "Chaos is in my blood, after all."

Uncle Remus sighed, apparently deciding to pick his battles for the time being. He had, at some point, warded Fred out of his own bedroom, which we had recently discovered when the boy tried to fly in through the window in the middle of the night and nearly fell to his death; I had only been speaking to Remus again for a few hours, so I guess he decided not to risk that by badmouthing my oldest and dearest friends.

Sensing that a change in subject was needed, Tonks cheerfully inquired, "So, Stel. What're your plans for the rest of the day?"

I shrugged, answered, "Probably just more studying. I was thinking about heading to Hogwarts though. Harry's been training with Ron and Hermione for the third task. It's kind of fun to watch. Plus, he's _really _terrible at Shield Charms. He wrote that Fred told him I was pretty decent at them and asked if I would give some pointers."

"Good idea," Tonks said, snagging one of the fortune cookies I'd discreetly charmed, "I'll go with. I've been meaning to visit Mad-Eye. I haven't seen that old bastard in ages." She popped the dessert into her mouth, frowning down at the slip of paper that had been inside. "_There are birds in your future_," she read, arching a thin eyebrow in my direction, "_Wear a hat and don't look up_."

I giggled, and, after a moment, Tonks did, too, shaking her head and remarking, "You're bloody bonkers, Stel. Honestly, Remus, I don't know how you managed to raise this little hellion without being driven completely up the wall."

The old man smiled at me, fondly. And then he smiled at Tonks, also fondly... maybe even more fondly... and an entirely different kind of fondly... what? "She's certainly kept my life interesting," Remus murmured, winking. _Winking!_ My godfather did not _wink!_

Tonks giggled again, but this giggle was also different, more of a twittering girly thing. And I detected a deepening of the pink hue in her hair (the metamorphmagus version of a blush, perhaps).

I stared at the two of them, back and forth over and over again while they paid attention to nothing but each other...

And I felt like I might be missing the punch line to a really good joke...

xxxxxxxxxx

My inspiration streak continues! And reviews will only feed the best (hinthint) :)


	22. OWL, Butterfly, Niffler

Part 22 - The OWL, the Butterfly, and the Niffler

As OWLs approached, I got more and more nervous. Not about the exams themselves; I was infinitely confident in my own intelligence and ability to kick arse. No, I was anxious as hell about being around so many of my fellow students all at once. Despite the fact that I'd been frequenting Hogwarts for months, I had purposely moved about the castle only at times when I was sure to run into the fewest people. I hadn't been recognized or otherwise accosted.

But the OWLs would be different. I would be rejoining all the students from my own year to sit for the exams. During the practicals, my name was likely to be called out loud. And I didn't want to deal with that. I felt scared and helpless, remembering all the abuse I'd suffered at the hands of that pack of ignorant, malicious bastards.

By the time June and the start of exams rolled around, I was reluctant to participate. The first day found me catching an early breakfast in the kitchen with the twins because I'd promised I would, but I spent a good chunk of that time trying to think of some justification for running away and not coming back. And I guess my apprehension was pretty obvious.

"Relax, Stel," Fred laughed, placing his hand on my bare knee in an attempt to get it to stop bouncing frantically, "You're going to do great."

"I don't think I want to do this anymore," I confessed, feeling too freaked out to eat, already very close to throwing up.

George tsktsked, leaned his head onto my shoulder and soothed, "If you don't take the test, then who's going to make everybody else look stupid, huh? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Despite my sour mood, I snickered at the joke. The twins have always had that power over me.

"It's just..." I hesitantly explained, poking disgustedly at a small bowl of oatmeal, "I don't want to deal with those people."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that we threatened your entire year with defenestration should any of them upset you," Fred piped up, flashing a dazzling white grin.

Had I been drinking anything, it surely would've shot out my nose with the force of the laugh that bubbled up. "You did not," I gaped, only laughing harder when both boys nodded importantly.

"Certainly did," George beamed, "The ones who knew what defenestration is were suitably terrified. The rest needed _other_ forms of persuasion." He cackled evilly, rubbing his hands together. "We've been _persuading_ all weekend. Right fun it is."

"You are absolutely absurd," I laughed, feeling my anxiety wane.

Leaning over to press a kiss to my temple, Fred soothed, "Absurdly awesome. There's nothing to be nervous about, love. Now, you'd better eat something or you'll regret it."

"Too true," George contributed, "I was almost asked to the leave the Transfiguration written because my stomach was growling so loud."

"Ya, about that," I spoke up, "Your mum was telling me some crazy story about you only getting three OWLs a piece. I said she had to be mistaken. My best friends are far too brilliant for scores like that, right?"

They hung their heads guiltily, shrugging.

"What the hell, guys?" I demanded, getting kind of worried again. The twins were two of the smartest people I knew; if they'd been stumped by the test, then I didn't have any hope.

"We didn't do much studying," Fred admitted quietly, "We just... didn't feel like it."

"Why would you not-" I began, abruptly cutting myself when I realized the unspoken implication: the reason that they hadn't studied was me, my incarceration in and subsequent disappearance from the nut house. Of course the twins wouldn't have felt like studying for, let alone taking exams.

My eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," I said, throwing my arms around Fred and then George, "I should've... Merlin, I'm an idiot! I can't believe I tanked your scores!"

"It's not your fault," George laughed, mussing up my already messy hair, "Besides, you know we've never cared about grades. That's your department, love. Now get out there and show everybody what you're made of!"

"Nicely motivated, Gred," Fred said, high-fiving his brother above my head.

"Thank you, Forge," George replied, leaping to his feet and curtsying primly, doing a small jig while his brother kept time.

Laughing, I commented, "And people say _I'm _the crazy one."

xxXxx

My first OWL was the Charms written, and it was fine. A piece of cake. Nobody even looked at me twice, all too caught up in their own exams to notice an extra student in the room, especially a girl wrapped from head to toe in her boyfriend's robe--mostly for comfort, but also just to cover up. I'd run into Ron while the twins were walking me to the testing room, and he'd practically drooled on my shoes at the sight of me wearing my school uniform once more; apparently, all the menfolk who knew I'd be returning had been quite looking forward to me taking my wonderfully ill-fitting ensemble out of retirement.

Laughing happily, Fred told me this over lunch in a secluded, sunny grove near the lake, just the two of us and a small picnic since George had received an afternoon detention for conspiring with the portraits.

(Don't ask.)

"You girls have no idea what that outfit does to us blokes," my boyfriend reported, stretched out on his side in mirror-image of my position, groaning helplessly when I wrapped my lips around a fat, ripe strawberry, winked, and took bite.

"Especially when you're the girl wearing it," Fred added gruffly, darting forward, licking a stray dribble of juice off my chin before attacking my mouth with his own.

I sighed delightedly, letting the stocky redhead guide me down onto the comfortable blanket, letting my legs fall open lazily when said redhead playfully walked his fingers along the inside of my thigh and upward. "So tell me," I murmured, panting damply against the shell of his freckly ear, "What _exactly_ does my outfit do to you?"

"_Stella_," Fred whined, frenzied and downright sloppy as he kissed and nipped my jaw, as he pushed my skirt up higher, pushed my panties to the side, "For Merlin's sake, don't tease me. I haven't even been allowed to touch you in two bloody weeks."

"Poor baby," I giggled, though it turned into a sort of choked, keening moan when Fred abruptly slid his fingers inside my wet center, stroking in time with the firm pressure of his thumb on my clit. He'd gotten _so_ damn good at that. "_Fred_," I gasped, rocking against his hand, rubbing my thigh against the tent in his trousers, clutching desperately at his thick arms.

Fred gave a strained laugh, breathlessly commenting, "Never going to get tired of hearing you call out my name."

I remember thinking of a snappy comeback, but it got lost somewhere in between the crook of his broad fingers inside my tight channel and the surprising rasp of his teeth over my cloth-covered nipple. I would've happily come apart, given just a few more seconds of stimulation; however, my lovely boyfriend chose that moment to stop his attentions entirely, pulling away with a sinful smirk, teasing my knickers down my legs and tossing them aside.

"Bastard," I groaned, writhing and squirming in a way I knew very well Fred found incredibly sexy and almost entirely impossible to resist.

And, indeed, his expression grew mesmerized and dark. He kissed me fiercely, grinding against my hip... but pulled back once more, shaking himself, grinning. "Sorry, love," Fred laughed, dragging his lips down my exposed sternum, popping one of the few remaining buttons on my shirt open with his teeth, "But I have a nice surprised all planned. To wish you good luck on your OWLs, you know?"

I giggled, complained, "Awfully rude of you to forget such a fact until such an inopportune moment."

Glancing up at me over the length of my own torso, waggling his ginger eyebrows, Fred declared, "I promise this'll make up for it." He kissed a bare slice of belly just above the low waist of my disheveled skirt, adding, "Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back."

"Ooo," I laughed, sighing as he slid his rough hands along my legs, starting at my ankles and slowly moving upward and until they were under my skirt, cradling my bare arse, "Intriguing. Do I get a hint?"

He nipped at my knee, smiled against the inside of my thigh as he got comfortable on his stomach. "You _need_ a hint?" he joked, lips trailing higher, closer to where his talented fingers had been just minutes earlier, "I didn't think I possessed the ability to be that subtle."

I giggled and wriggled, ticklish. "Now who's teasing?" I challenged.

"Yes, where are my manners," he replied, winking devilishly just before his head disappeared under my skirt.

Sprawled on the blanket, I gulped deeply, tried not to feel nervous or embarrassed at the immensely intimate act that was about to commence. Despite the few awkward and unpleasant blow jobs I'd given Oliver Wood before deciding he wasn't worth the trouble, the young man had never reciprocated. And now here was Fred, eagerly volunteering for the task. I smiled up at the brilliant sky, biting my lip when I felt Fred's warm breath on my cunt, when I felt his smile against my exposed folds.

And then it was difficult to think about anything at all aside from the slick, hot slide of tongue.

"Holy fucking _hell_," I shouted (well, squealed, rather unattractively as my whole body just about convulsed).

Fred's head popped up between my bent knees, and the boy beamed at me. "Alright, love?" he mocked happily, eyes impish and somehow bluer than the summer sky.

"Don't you _dare_ stop," I gasped, fairly certain some wiring in my brain had just been fried.

Chuckling, Fred vanished again. "Bossy," he commented, biting a fluttering tendon at the juncture of one of my thighs, "I love it."

I was... less than coherent after that. Mewling mindlessly, flushing all over and sweating like I was about to catch fire, clutching at the blanket in a rather futile attempt not to buck off it, trying not to scream or swear too loudly as Fred took his sweet arse time licking and sucking and stroking, driving me repeatedly to the brink of orgasm only to pull back with a wicked, maddening laugh. When he finally did allow me release, it was like... uuuhhh. Amazing. Just this intense sensation of exploding outward from the apex of my thighs, over and over as Fred's cunning mouth just kept forcing my body to higher and higher planes of soul-rattling ecstasy.

By the time I was coming down and once again noticing my surroundings, I saw that Fred was beside me, stretched slothfully on the blanket and chuckling as he nipped behind my ear, ran his palm over the shivery waves of aftershocks still bouncing like pinballs between my hips and rib cage, slithering like snakes down the length of my seemingly leaden legs. "Back with me, love?" the boy questioned smugly, eyes dazzling and lips plump and wet. Shinier than any boy's lips had a right to be.

Still not quite up to the task of speaking, I just nodded, fought the blissed-out paralysis of my limbs in order to curl into his chest.

He put his arms around me, and the wash of vibration from his laugh made my breath catch deliciously, delayed my recovery another few floaty seconds.

"Wow," I finally managed, "That was... wow... where... where did you..."

Apparently taking some pity on my poor gooey brain, Fred snickered and explained, "The books in the Restricted Section cover a lot more subjects than just Dark Arts, and I know how you love it when I actually study."

I snorted inelegantly, snuggling in and deliriously muttering, "Ten points to Gryffindor."

xxXxx

Very shortly after my very inappropriate mockery of the school's point system, just when I was starting to rouse from my post-orgasmic stupor and enthusiastically rejoin our amazing open-air tryst, Fred made a big show of whipping out his... pocket watch (naughty minds are happy minds, hahaha) and checking the time.

He then groaned, fought me off him, and reported that I was going to be late.

To which I replied, "Late for what?"

To which he replied, "Merlin, that one move _was _called the Mind Melter, but I didn't think they were serious."

To which I replied, "Why are you still talking?"

To which he replied, "Your OWL starts in five minutes."

To which I replied, "You're a dead man."

And that was how, after a frantic sprint, I arrived barely on time to the Charms practical, panting and barefoot and still quite bothered, with half the buttons on my shirt undone and my hair mussed tellingly. Without my knickers, I realized in horror.

_Everybody_ turned and stared when I rushed into the Entrance Hall. There was whispering, twittering, pointing. Several jaws were dropped.

Before I even had time to acknowledge my utter humiliation, one of the examiners (a tiny witch who looked older than Dumbledore) appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall and curtly announced, "Students, please step forward when your names are called. First up are Randolph, Allaway, Carlo Azarola, Giles Babineaux, Katie Bell, and Stella Black."

More jaws were dropped, but most people didn't seem to actually make the connection between the crazy girl who'd been carted off to the asylum the previous year and the half-dressed girl who'd just rushed into the Hall with only seconds to spare. I heard hushed murmurs of wonderment and surprise, people glancing all around trying to catch sight of their most infamous yearmate.

I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to discretely button my top and smooth down my hair, trying to ignore the alternately inquisitive and lustful but all ridiculously obvious stares. I took a deep breath, talking myself out of making a run for it, psyching myself up. I reached for my wand-

My wand.

I left my wand on the blanket.

I had a brief internal breakdown and decided to kill Fred.

But as soon as I had resolved to do so, the redhead himself came barreling into the Entrance Hall, my motorcycle boots in one hand and--praise be to the god of horny teenage girls--my wand in the other.

"Scuse me, pardon me, outta the way, important man coming through!" Fred proclaimed as he shoved his way across the room. Once he reached his destination, the redhead barely spared a moment on a sheepish smirk before sweeping me into his arms and kissing me until I no longer cared that my entire year and several of the OWL examiners were watching intently. That, as far as I knew, my underpants were still MIA.

We came up for air and smiled stupidly at each other, lost in our own little world. Fred stuffed my forgotten boots and wand into my hands, winking, chirping, "Good luck, Stel. Not that you'll need it." He leaned in close, whispered, "Would I just be digging myself in deeper if I offered to trade your knickers for my life?"

"I am going to get you back so bad for this," I replied, unable to stop grinning as I gave him one more peck on the lips then turned and just about strutted up to the amused-looking witch with the list of names. "Stella Black," I declared loudly, proudly, fear and uncertainty nothing but distant memories, "Present, accounted for, and ready to kick some OWL arse."

xxXxx

I flawlessly performed every required charm and then a few extras at the impressed behest of my examiner, the tiny old witch with the list of names. She was called Madam Marchbanks, and she gave me full marks.

When I exited, about half the class was still in the Entrance Hall waiting to be called for their turns. The conversation grew hushed, the looks uneasy, amazed, hungry.

I just smirked and walked off to wait in the library until the twins were through with class, hoping to find something that could be transfigured into a usable pair of knickers. Based on my luck thus far that day, I didn't want to risk walking around commando for too long. It was bad enough I would be forever remembering my Charms OWL as the one to which I did not wear panties.

About half way to my goal, I heard, "Stella! Wait!"

I didn't bother to turn and investigate, picking up my pace.

Unfortunately, though she was kind of a shortarse, Katie Bell was pretty quick herself and didn't take long to jog up beside me. "Hey," she began uncertainly, "I... how are you?"

"Was there something you wanted?" I snapped in reply, barely sparing the pretty blonde girl a sideways glance. She'd been alternately indifferent and mean to me, buying into and even helping spread the rumors; I had no desire to converse.

She bit her lip, looked away and then resolutely back at me. "I feel terrible about what happened last year."

"You should," I quipped.

The girl flinched a bit but stayed in step, fidgeting with a stray thread on her shirt. "What I mean is," she corrected softly, "I'm sorry."

I stopped and whirled on her, towering impressively as a sudden flash of fury had me almost angry enough to put my fist through her face. I really almost hit her. But, instead, owing to great personal restraint, I kept my clenched hands at my sides and hissed, "No, what you mean is that you want to stop feeling terrible about your abhorrent behavior, and you think you can do that by having me accept some pitiful excuse for an apology. But it's not going to happen. I have absolutely no interest in making you feel better, so FUCK OFF!!!"

I didn't mean to shout. It just happened.

And, afterward, the only thing I could think to do (other than beating the girl into next week) was walk away. So that's what I did. I walked away, pulling out of the fog of rage and realizing that I was only about a half dozen doors down from the library. Huh.

Unfortunately, Katie refused to quit. Moments later, she was back at my side and then in front of me, stopping me and stepping into my path every time I tried to step around her.

Snarling, I warned, "You really don't want to do this."

I saw her brown eyes flick down to my tightly balled fists, back up once more. "Would that help, you think?" Katie challenged, only the barest hint of nervousness in her voice, "If we just fought and got it over with?"

I smirked bitterly, my best mental-patient smirk. "Is it still considered a fight if I knock you out with one punch?" I replied.

She smirked right back. There was a small degree of open respect in the expression. After a brief moment, Katie countered, "You tell me."

"Tempting," I quipped; really, it was, "But I'm trying to get reinstated, and I don't think presenting McGonogall a handful of your teeth would be counted in my favor."

Katie laughed out loud, shaking her head. "I'm starting to see why the twins like you so much," she said.

"I always thought it's because of my tendency to misplace my knickers," I joked dryly. Before my former roommate could answer, I added, "Stop acting like we're friends, like we ever were friends or are ever going to be friends."

This seemed to stun the girl, her mouth opening and closing dumbly. "I made a mistake," she finally murmured, looking suitably ashamed of herself, heartfelt and pleading, "I'm sorry."

"So you said," I answered, sick of the conversation and, especially, the person with which I was being forced to have it, "And all it tells me is that your conscience is in good working order, which makes everything you did just that much more despicable since you bloody well knew better."

She bit her lip, seemed like she might cry.

"It's easy to be sorry," I told the girl as I moved past her, "A lot easier than it is to be a good person. Give that a try, and maybe then we'll talk."

Katie didn't follow me after that.

I suppose I should've given her some credit; hers was one of only a scant few face-to-face apologies I ever got from the people who took part in my torment, and she wasn't even one of the worst offenders, not by far. The rest pretty much either pretended nothing had happened or just avoided me entirely; most kept up with their old tricks of talking about me behind my back and crossing to the other side of hallways when I walked past.

At the time, though, I was still too angry to appreciate what I felt was a rather hollow gesture. I wasn't a particularly forgiving person; hell, I'd just barely started tolerating Harry again, which wasn't forgiveness so much as... trying to move on. And even that was hard. A part of me still hated my godbrother, felt hurt and betrayed and pretty much always would. But I did my best with Harry because I loved him, because he was my family. Katie Bell was nothing to me, never had been and never would be.

In the library, I snuck into the Restricted Section and flipped through some of those naughty books Fred had bragged about (they were as interesting and informative as they were difficult to locate; honestly, who hides books in the ceiling?).

George found me there maybe an hour or two later, perched comfortably on atop one of the tallest stacks (wearing a pair of strangely comfortable transfigured knickers made from a stray quill). Smirking up at me, my redheaded best friend asked, "How was the OWL?"

"Full marks and flying colors," I answered, grinning broadly, replacing the book inside a loose ceiling panel, "How was the detention?"

Shrugging, George said, "Been to one, been to 'em all." He chuckled, declared, "I don't know what you did to my twin, but he squirmed all through class and then ran off muttering something about keeping you from killing him, so it looks like you're stuck with me until he manages that. Are you studying, or do fancy going out for a bit of fun?"

"Fun, of course," I responded, hopping down from the stack and into George's steadying embrace. "Remus is down for his monthly," I reported as we linked arms and set off, "And Tonks got called away on a last minute assignment, so I am officially without adult supervision for the next few days at least."

"That's how I like my Stella," George beamed, "Hogsmeade?"

I hummed speculatively, stating, "Well, we'll have to catch the floo connection through there."

Raising an eyebrow as he maneuvered us out of the Restricted Section, George chuckled, "What're you thinking, oh devious one?"

"Well, that sounds ominous," Cedric Diggory declared from a nearby table, his handsome face appearing suddenly from behind a thick book. He smirked, inquiring, "What are you two planning?"

"Are you asking as a prefect or potential cohort?" George teased, smiling mischievously and waving him forward, "Either way, come with us and find out."

"It's a Monday night," the boy declared, scandalized (though I couldn't tell how much of it was an act), "And, Stella, don't you have another OWL tomorrow?"

I shrugged, chirped, "Just Transfiguration. I can take that test standing on my head and still get full marks." I dragged him up from his chair, adding, "And I just won't be able to enjoy my night of fun if I know there's a strapping Hogwarts champion sitting all alone in the boring old library, especially since I'm sure you're only in here because Cho's probably gone all Ravenclaw crazy and is refusing to acknowledge your existence until after the OWLs."

Cedric blushed, laughed, allowed himself to be pulled along. "I suppose I could stand for some excitement," he said, "After all, there's no greater tragedy than a wasted youth."

xxXxx

We looked for Fred (briefly) but couldn't locate my wayward boyfriend. Instead, I left him a note detailing my plans and encouraging him to meet up, then George, Cedric, and I took the secret passage to Hogsmeade (which amazed Cedric to no end), and from Hogsmeade we flooed to Ozzy's London flat. He was thrilled with the visit, even more so when I suggested we all go out to his friend's nightclub, Coven. It had become a favorite hangout of mine, and I was sure that George and Cedric would love it as well.

We changed at Ozzy's. I wore a short, gauzy white dress left over from one of our photoshoots. George and Cedric borrowed jeans and very stylish collared shirts; Ozzy had a really fun time dressing them up, playing with their hair, and flirting shamelessly with both clueless boys, occasionally snapping candids of the three of us goofing around.

And then we headed out. The crowd at Coven wasn't anywhere near its peak capacity (being an early Monday evening), but the turnout was still rather respectable: just the fun side of rowdy, mostly jovial groups of friends rather than seas of shameless singles. There was a band setting up on the stage, a long-haired quartet wearing red full-body leotards, so we had that to look forward to. As usual, the owner, Ozzy's friend Luisella Cordero, was happy to see us, gave us a private booth and gave her employees instructions that we were to get whatever we wanted.

"Aren't you the rockstar," George teased, his shaggy red hair gelled into a surprisingly adorable faux-hawk that seemed to bring out the devilishness in his bright eyes and quirky grin.

With his own brown hair looking windswept and whimsical (very Prince-Charming-on-a-white-stallion-here-to-save-the-day), Cedric slid in beside Ozzy on the other side of the booth and commented, "I sure could get used to having VIP friends."

Ozzy chuckled, flicking dark hair out of his dark eyes and slinging an arm around Cedric's broad shoulders. "You're a Triwizard champion," Ozzy remarked, waving down a waiter, "I think you're going to have to get used to being a VIP all on your own."

Squirming a little uncomfortably, Cedric answered, "Actually, I'm hoping that I won't be such a celebrity once the tournament is over. It's kind of creepy, especially with all those bogus stories about all of us showing up in the Prophet. Not to mention that awful Skeeter woman hounding me for interviews."

George clamped his hand down around my mouth, lightly warning, "It's probably best not to get Stel started on her. There's a bit of a history."

I swatted him away, laughing, "I wasn't going to rant! I was just going to tell dear Ced that the next time Skeeter bothers him, he can shut her the hell up by snatching the mangy horse-hair wig off her detestable bald head. Preferably in public."

"Skeeter's _bald_?!" Ozzy demanded, eyes bugging out behind his glasses.

I smirked evilly, purring, "Ever since I got through with her."

"You're kidding, right?" Cedric asked, smiling like he thought so but wasn't sure and didn't know whether to laugh or to be very, very afraid.

"Oh no," George piped up, grinning quite proudly, "Stella takes her vengeance very serious. I still can't grow hair on my arse from the time she had me and Fred tarred and feathered."

"You two rigged my trunk to blow up in my face!" I shrieked, laughing when he reached out and tickled my sides, "The response was more than justified! Besides, people pay good money for hairless arses. You should be thanking me."

We got our drink orders in: firewhiskey for George and Cedric, an appletini for Ozzy, and a strawberry lemonade for me. The waiter kept the beverages coming as we all chatted and joked, the noise from our booth growing exponentially louder with every ounce of alcohol my companions consumed.

Cedric was the cutest drunk I'd ever seen, pink and uncontrollably giggly, his voice crackly and high. He fell out of the booth laughing when, after an hour of George's pestering me for details, I confessed to a carefully edited account of my ridiculous afternoon.

"Blimey!" Cedric snickered as Ozzy helped him back into his seat, "No wonder Fred's scared! Cho would skin me alive if I ever let anything like that happen!"

I shrugged, laughing at myself a bit. "Well, don't tell him just yet, but I'm pretty much over it," I stated, "It wasn't _entirely_ Fred's fault, and he did make a nice save. Plus, as horrifying as the situation was at the time, the whole thing just seems hilarious now."

"To Stella's sense of humor!" George toasted abruptly, clumsily raising his glass, "May it always be so forgiving toward my poor hapless twin and the many fuckups undoubtedly in his future!"

"Here, here!" Cedric giggled as he, too, toasted. And then fell straight out of his seat once more and lay on the floor, still giggling.

"I think you might've had enough, dude," Ozzy chuckled as he once again dragged the inebriated Hufflepuff up and into the booth, "Wouldn't want any of these questionable characters taking advantage of the champion while his defenses are low."

Grinning slyly, I teased, "I bet Cho wouldn't like that one bit."

Cedric gave a sloppy, dopey smile, wobbling a bit as he giggled, "I like Cho."

"We gathered as much," George answered, looking exasperated yet greatly amused as he waved for another round.

"No, I _really _like her," Cedric insisted with a dreamy sigh, "Like, _love_ her. She's _perfect_... you think she'd marry me?"

I choked on a mouthful of lemonade, coughing spastically as George hammered on my back.

"Now I _know_ you've had enough," Ozzy commented, snatching away Ced's refill and downing it himself.

Gray eyes looking dewy and dreamy, Cedric pouted, "I'm serious. I just _know_, you know?... how should I ask her? Or should I wait 'til she's done with Hogwarts? You think that'd be better?"

Trying to clear the last of the tart liquid from my lungs, I rasped, "Probably best to wait until _you're_ at least done with Hogwarts! You've got another year still ahead of you, mate! Don't rush it!"

"But I _LOVE_ her!!" Cedric complained, tipping over in his seat, this time thankfully toward Ozzy and simply passing out face-first into the American's lap.

We just sort of stared for a moment... and then laughed until I was sure at least one of us was going to be sick.

"Godric's grapes!" I cackled, "He's a lot of fun!"

"Never would've guessed it," George agreed, slurping and chuckling into his drink, "We are definitely going to have to invite him along on more of our adventures!"

Shaking his head, Ozzy propped our poor unconscious friend up and snickered, "That's if this adorable little lightweight doesn't wise up and avoid you hoodlums like the plague. Jesus, from the Goblet of Fire to the barroom floor. What a corrupting influence you are."

"But that's why you like us," I grinned, shoving at George to let me out of the booth, "Move it, ginger nut. I'm going to piss myself from all this laughing."

"Sexy," George taunted as he let me up.

I scurried off to the loo, laughing like crazy all through the visit, undoubtedly making the women in the other cubicles extremely uncomfortable. But whatever. It's what I do.

By the time I was finished, the band had finally started playing. They were good, very upbeat, high-energy pop rock. And they called themselves Sex Hex. Ozzy was on the dark, crowded dance floor, looking like he was having a grand old time jumping about with a pretty blonde man. My friend waved me over brightly, and I danced with them for one short song before heading back to the table to check on George and Cedric.

George had found his own entertainment: a scantily dressed brunette gyrating spastically in his lap. He didn't really notice me, and that was fine. I was just going to go back to dancing as soon as I saw that Cedric was ok.

Except Cedric wasn't there.

"George!" I cried, having to shout loudly over the music, smacking him several times in order to get his attention away from the extra tongue in his mouth, "George, where's Cedric?"

The redhead and his companion frowned at the intrusion. "He's lying down on the bench," George yelled, waving me away and getting back to his previous activities, "I'm watching him. Go have fun."

"GEORGE!" I shrieked, hitting him repeatedly, "Cedric isn't on the bench! He's not here at all! Didn't you see where he went?!"

George managed to pull himself away from his snogging partner yet again, looking around, under the table. "Relax," he finally told me, reluctantly excusing himself from the brunette, "I'm sure he's just... uh... gone to the loo or something. Probably had to puke."

Growling at the boy, I stalked off to the toilets again, scanning the crowd and finding no sign of the wayward champion. He wasn't in the men's room, either. And, after getting propositioned twice during my search of the place, I was not in the best of moods.

"I can't believe you lost Cedric!" I scolded George, climbing up onto a table with his help and searching the throngs of dancers once more, "I can't believe you _lost_ the Hogwarts champion!"

"He's not lost," George answered, pouty but contrite, "Just... misplaced. Besides, it's not like we don't have another one." Obviously he wasn't contrite enough not to tell bad jokes. Though I should've expected as much. There are very few things in the world that can keep George Weasley from that particular pastime.

I smacked him, abandoned my perch on the table. "You keep looking in here," I ordered, rather frustrated, "I'm going to check around outside."

"You shouldn't wander off by yourself!" George shouted after me, but I ignored him and pushed my way out into the warm night.

The outside of the club was nothing special, nothing even obvious, being that it was a wizarding hangout in the heart of London. One very large bouncer was on duty guarding the entrance: a tiny, fake locksmith shop at the end of a narrow, quiet alley. The bouncer's name was Mick, and he said that he had indeed seen a young man matching Cedric's description leave the club, stumble down the alley, and turn right at the street. I set off in the Hufflepuff's wake.

It wasn't a particularly bad neighborhood, just... you know, nighttime in the city. Dirty artificial light that washes out the moon and the stars and casts long shadows that play tricks with the eyes. Nocturnal weirdoes roaming free.

I found Cedric in a groddy tattoo parlor at the end of the block. I almost didn't believe it when I glanced in through the front window and saw the boy lying on a table on his stomach. After rushing frantically inside, I was even more distressed to see that his pale arse was bare and that a very large, hairy muggle was halfway through applying a small tattoo high on the boy's finely sculpted right cheek. The design looked like a wispy purple butterfly.

I was speechless. Honestly.

After a few moments, Cedric finally noticed my arrival, picking his head up and grinning stupidly but proudly. "D'ya think Cho will like it?" the boy slurred, hopeful and excited.

And I just... I couldn't burst his bubble. He looked so sweet and so smitten. The damage was done, after all. I could've dragged him out, but having to explain in the morning why there was half a butterfly on his arse seemed somehow worse than having to explain why there was anything on his arse at all.

"I think Cho is going to be very, very surprised," I answered, doing my best not to laugh, sitting down at my friend's side and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Cedric giggled and beamed.

xxXxx

By the time his tattoo was finished and bandaged and I had listened dutifully to the hairy muggle's proper-care-and-maintenance-of-body-art speech, Cedric couldn't quite walk under his own power alone. I couldn't quite carry the strapping young man, but I did my best to keep him mostly upright as he hung off my shoulders and we both went stumbling back toward the club.

Our progress was slow, and Cedric was humming very off-key, occasionally jabbering something that sounded suspiciously like Gobbledegook limericks and then laughing hysterically.

"I really wish you were still shorter than me, mate," I bitched, "And quit squirming! I'm in heels and barely keeping us both off the sidewalk as it is!"

Cedric giggled shrilly. Then he went silent. "Stella?" the boy asked.

"The one and only," I answered, "What's on your mind, Frankenstein?"

Frowning against my shoulder, Cedric grunted, "Huh?"

"Nothing," I told him, laughing and trying to adjust my grip on the burly seeker, "Are you feeling ok? Do you need to stop?"

He shook his head, said, "Stella?"

"Right here," I snickered.

"Stella," Cedric repeated, suddenly throwing both arms around me and hugging me so hard that lack of oxygen became a bit of an issue.

"Oof," I huffed breathlessly, "Alright there, champ?"

"You're a good friend," the Hufflepuff insisted, finally easing up but not moving away. "And a good person," he added sincerely. His pouty bottom lip started to quiver, and Cedric pulled me into another hug, hiding his face in my hair and mumbling, "I'm sorry people are so mean to you."

The comment was... unexpected. And I didn't really know how to respond. So I just settled for returning the hug, patting him gently and murmuring, "Thanks."

Cedric made a wet, squishy belching noise, and I barely got his head into a rubbish can before he began barfing up his guts.

"Stella?" I heard, turning to find Fred jogging toward us. He was filthy and still wearing his school uniform, the left sleeve of his shirt ripped at the shoulder. But he had a silly grin on his smudgy face, so I figured that whatever had happened to put him into such a state couldn't have been too traumatizing.

"What on earth happened to you?" I chuckled, keeping the redhead at arm's length when he tried to dart in for a kiss.

Smirking, Fred reported, "I fell out of a tree."

"You fell out of a tree?" I questioned skeptically.

Fred nodded. "Twice."

I stared at him for a moment and then just started laughing like crazy, so hard that I was unable to fend my dirty boyfriend off the next time he leaned in to kiss me. "What were you doing in a tree?" I demanded, struggling weakly when he folded me into his arms and hugged me tight against his grubby chest. I noticed twigs and a few leaves tangled in his hair.

Still with the same silly, smug grin, Fred dug into his pocket and produced a small, pretty blue flower. It was a simple thing, five flat, pointed petals around a fuzzy black center. Thumb and forefinger pinched around the delicate stem, Fred held the flower out to me and prompted, "Smell."

Wary but intrigued (and never one to turn down a challenge), I leaned forward and took a delicate sniff of the vivid blue plant. I was expecting... I don't know. Something. Usually when either of the twins tells me to smell, taste, touch, or otherwise interact with anything, it's some sort of prank.

But I smelled the flower and nothing happened. "It..." I ventured tentatively, "It smells like pineapple."

Beaming, Fred agreed, "I know!"

"Did you fall on your head?" I laughed, reaching up to run my fingers through his tangled red locks, carefully probing the boy's thick cranium for knots or contusions.

He pouted, moped, "You don't like it?"

"I love it," I soothed, leaning into his touch when he gently tucked the flower behind my ear, "I just can't believe you fell out of a tree for it... and why were you even climbing a tree when you have a perfectly good broom at your disposal? Wouldn't flying have been a lot easier and less dangerous?"

"Therein lies the problem," my boyfriend proclaimed, puffing out his chest, "It's not a daring quest to bring my lady fair a token of my love if there's no danger to be heroically overcome only through the depths of my devotion."

Laughing, pecking his smiling mouth, I answered, "You're too cute for your own good."

He grinned and hesitantly ventured, "Does that mean you're not going to kill me anymore?"

"I was never really going to kill you," I teased in reply, gracing him with a wicked smirk, "Just maim you a bit."

"Oh," he answered brightly, "Well, then that's ok. My body, as well as my heart, belongs to you, after all."

Cedric turned up beside us, wobbly but upright. "I'm done vomiting now," he reported, looking very young and pitiful.

"And there goes the mood," Fred answered, rolling his eyes.

I smacked him lightly, pulling away just in time to catch Cedric when the poor boy almost took a header into the pavement. With Fred's help, I was able to haul the unconscious Hufflepuff back to the club.

xxXxx

We got back to Hogwarts around two in the morning, the twins supporting Cedric between them. Our good champion was awake again and telling strange stories from his childhood, like the time he had a pet rabbit named Marshmallow that peed everywhere and tried to eat his toes. We probably should've silenced him, but the tales were too funny and cute. So we decided to just let him babble and keep a close eye out and run like crazy in order to not get caught.

We agreed that abandoning Cedric to his own house wasn't a very good idea. And, anyways, he couldn't remember the password to his common room. So, instead, we dragged him up seven freaking flights of stairs (a feat that fell mostly to Fred and me since George was also drunk and got very uncooperative after the first few stories).

By the time we made it to the Room of Requirement and sorted it into a suitable place for a slumber party (three cozy cots all in a row), Fred and I were pretty much exhausted, sweaty and ready for bed. But we still got George and Cedric to drink some water, got them out of their jeans and shirts, and then tucked them in. They both passed out almost immediately.

"Finally," Fred murmured, pulling me into his arms, pressing my back against a wall and kissing me soundly. "I thought they'd never leave," he sighed into my mouth, his big hands pushing under the hem of my skirt.

"They're still in the room, Fred," I laughed, reluctantly pushing him back a bit and sternly arguing, "And, anyways, you're not getting into my knickers again until you return the last pair. Pervert."

He pouted, "Aw, do I have to?"

"I would prefer it, yes," I scolded, finding difficulty in keeping a straight face.

"Can we make a trade instead?" he offered hopefully.

Rolling my eyes, I countered, "I already spared your life."

"And I do appreciate that, love," the redhead murmured silkily, gnawing a bit on my collarbone in a highly distracting manner, "But I was thinking that _maybe_ I could sacrifice your lovely underthings if you agreed to take a nice steamy shower with me." He picked his head up and grinned, winked sexily before switching to the other collarbone, doing delightful things with his tongue all the way up the side of my neck.

"Hmm," I hummed happily, thoughtfully, "Well, you do need a shower. Badly."

"What every bloke wants to hear from his beloved," Fred taunted, tugging me toward the small attached bathroom, "Come on, Stel. Pretty please?"

I let myself be pulled along, lacing our fingers and shivering at the puckish look Fred sent over his shoulder. "Fine," I murmured, smirking, "But you're totally washing my hair for me."

xxXxx

Our shower was actually surprisingly innocent. Turns out, we were both too tired for anything really naughty, and it was just nice standing under the hot spray together, holding each other close. Fred took his time washing my hair, letting his hands wander as he whispered soft words of adoration, and I did the same for him. Enjoyed vast expanses of freckles and pale skin and hard planes of quivering muscle. It was the first time we'd ever seen each other completely naked (unless you count when I shrank, which I don't since Fred was dressed and George was there), and (aside from Fred's brief loss of the ability to form coherent sentences) nothing happened, but... it was really nice anyways. Quiet and intimate. And we both went to bed happy, snuggled together close and warm.

I was up first in the morning, pleased to see that some overachieving house-elf had brought up a few doses of hangover potion (which didn't work particularly well, I knew from experience, but was better than nothing). I dressed and then, in preparation for that days' OWL, went over Transfiguration-related topics in my head, watching Fred sleep in the moments when I felt particularly sappy and love-struck. He was so adorable, ruggedly handsome and utterly relaxed.

Cedric woke next, moaning in pain.

I gave him one of the potions and ordered, "Drink."

He did so, and, after a few minutes of careful, measured breathing, the Hufflepuff seemed to feel at least marginally better. He opened one bleary gray eye, wincing and croaking, "Stella?"

"Go back to sleep, mate," I murmured, offering a gentle smile and what I hoped was a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Where are we?" he grunted, stubbornly picking his head up off the pillow. One side of his hair was matted and the other was sticking out all over.

I tried not to laugh. "Hogwarts," I said, "Don't worry. Just sleep."

He sat up instead, yelping shrilly and clutching his arse. "What the..." he gaped, stumbling to his feet, teetering but staying upright as he pulled down the waist of his black-and-yellow striped boxers and exposed the fresh bandage.

His eyes got _huge_, like silver dollars, his mouth falling open soundlessly.

"Ya," I chuckled, "That was pretty much my reaction, too. Sorry. You ran off from the club, and I didn't find you until you were already most of the way through the tattoo."

He squeaked in horror.

"Did someone just step on a niffler?" Fred yawned, frowning over at us from the other bed. He took in the scene and then carefully ventured, "Stel, why is Diggory flashing his arse?"

"Did I not mention it last night?" I answered, knowing very well I hadn't, "The champion got his behind tattooed as a gesture of undying love for his girlfriend."

"Damn," Fred responded, pouting and snuggling back into his pillow, "Why didn't I think to do that?"

I snorted and rolled my eyes, turning back to find Cedric in pretty much the same position I'd left him. "You should probably change the bandage soon," I instructed, "And disinfect the, um... area. The tattoo parlor didn't look particularly clean, but the artist seemed like a nice enough bloke. And he did good work. The ink is gorgeous."

Cedric blinked at me a few more times before finally shutting his mouth, giving a weak, weary smile and questioning, "You guys are playing a prank on me, aren't you?"

Shaking my head, I replied, "Not that it wouldn't have been a _really_ good one, but no. Sorry." I gestured behind me, stating, "There's a mirror in the bathroom if you want a better look."

Appearing disturbed and nauseated, Cedric wobbled his way into the bathroom. Seconds later, the horrified squeak could be heard once more. This time a lot louder.

"Who stepped on the niffler?" George grumbled.

xxxxxxxxxx

I think this chapter kind of speaks for itself, teehee. Woo. I'm on fire, and reviews feed the flame. Burn, baby, burn.

(In case ya'll didn't notice, I have abandoned warnings for sexual content. From this point forward, just to the be safe, assume that everything I write is filthy and entirely inappropriate :) )


	23. A Long Strange Trip

Part 23 - A Long Strange Trip

"You have to help me," Cedric proclaimed as he threw himself into the seat opposite mine at one of the library's most secluded tables. He yelped shrilly and jumped up almost immediately, apparently having forgotten the days-old tattoo on his arse.

Not looking up from my book, I chuckled, "Well, I suppose I probably owe you a little assistance, but I draw the line at applying any creams or ointments to your backside."

He huffed, sitting down again, this time being careful to keep his weight off his right arse cheek, only wincing a little. "Just call off the twins," the Hufflepuff pleaded, gray eyes sad and hopeful, "They've been following me all week trying to get a look at my tattoo."

I giggled.

"It's weird!" Cedric insisted, glancing around nervously, like he was waiting for a twin to jump out and assault his arse at any second. "They keep... turning up!" he ranted, "Between classes! When I'm in the loo or getting out of the bath! I thought I'd at least be safe in the prefect's bathroom, but no! How do they manage to get in _everywhere_?!"

I giggled again, greatly amused as I answered, "They have a knack. And I'm sure they'll leave you alone if you just show them."

Cedric blushed, looking a bit scandalized.

"Don't tell me you're shy," I snickered.

"No," he insisted, eyes darting, "It's just... private."

"Does that mean you haven't shown Cho yet?" I teased.

His blush grew darker, possibly the worst one I'd ever seen on the boy. "I talked her into a date tonight," he murmured, smiling dopily, "Being the weekend and all. But I had to promise to let her into the library after hours so that she could make up the study time."

"That's what you get for loving a Ravenclaw," I told him smugly, smirking and winking over the top of my book.

Cedric groaned and let his head flop limply down to the table. "I hate my life," he complained.

"Poor boy," I replied, "You know what would make you feel better?"

"If you say firewhiskey, I swear I'm going to puke."

I laughed, "No. Don't be silly. I've seen how you hold your liquor."

Cedric picked his head up to scowl at me.

"Behold," I answered, showing him my book, lowering my voice, "The complete steps of the Animagus Transfiguration."

His eyes grew wide as he scanned the old, narrow lettering. "You got permission to do it?" he asked, clearly impressed.

Smirking, I answered, "Of course not. The Ministry would never approve me."

Cedric stared for a few moments, seeming to be waiting for elaboration.

"There was a question about Animagi on the Transfiguration OWL," I stated happily, "Got me thinking. I talked to my dad and got him to tell me about when he and his friends learned it, how they got around the restrictions since the Ministry keeps pretty tight control on the text they'd need. He said that he liberated the book from his parents' library. And that, as far as he knew, it was still behind a false panel in the back of his old desk. Which I, coincidentally, liberated from my evil aunt just a few short months ago. _Viola_."

Grinning, seeming almost giddy with the intellectual goody I'd just handed him, Cedric commented, "Bloody brilliant!" After a brief moment, he paused, looked up at me. "You talk to your dad?" he whispered.

Oops. "Occasionally," I replied, fixing the boy with a very stern look, "He's in hiding so we can't exactly meet for tea, but we have ways to communicate without getting caught. Besides, he's innocent, remember?"

"I know," Cedric said, hands up defensively, "Just... well, whatever. This is still amazing! What animal to do you think you are?"

"A dog, of course," I answered smugly, "Fred and George are having a field day with the jokes, but I think that's just because I said that I reckoned they'd be baboons."

Cedric snorted, commenting, "So the twins are in on this as well?"

I grinned and chuckled, "Our newest secret project. We're going to work on it over the summer. And you're welcome to join, if you're interested."

He smiled slowly. "I know I should say no," he murmured, "But Transfiguration _is_ my favorite subject."

"Mine, too," I chirped, "So what do you think you'll be?"

Cedric shrugged, admitting, "Well, my Patronus is a dove, so probably a dove."

I said, "Nice. George is hoping to be something that flies. You're going to make him wicked jealous."

"What do you think they'll be really?" Cedric asked, seeming genuinely interested.

"I've been reading into the theory side of the transformation," I explained brightly, "How your form is decided is really quite fascinating. Most scholars believe that Patroni don't actually represent a person's innermost soul but rather just the protective magic inside them. The Animagus form, on the other hand, is determined more by a combination of personality and personal desire. George might act like a big monkey, but if what he really wants deep down is to be free and to soar through the clouds, if that's what his soul craves, then that's what he'll probably be getting. It's true that a wizard's Patronus and Animagus forms will usually be the same, but not necessarily, and sometimes only because the Patronus will actually change to match the Animagus form. Patroni are known to change, usually in response to extreme emotional trauma because the protective magical force they draw their strength from is dynamic and will adapt to greater demands by seizing on a totem that's fiercer or more personally comforting or both. An Animagus form, however, will never change, like people can't really change who they are deep down. It's who you are and what you want rather than what you need to see when you're facing down a Dementor. The fact that a Patronus will change to match just means that most people feel a lot of confidence and joy in that form, enough to rely on it, on themselves when the need arises."

"Interesting," Cedric commented lightly.

I blushed a little, chuckled, "Sorry for babbling. I'm pretty excited. It's an enthralling bit of magic, and I've always been a sucker for theory."

"No worries," the boy answered, flashing a charming grin, "You're nice to listen to. Very, very smart stuff. And it's good that you really seem to understand all this. I've heard the process can be rather dangerous."

"People end up with animal brains," I laughed, "They forget who they are and what they were doing. That's why we'll have to take turns at first, so if someone screws up, the others can catch them and turn them back."

Snickering, Cedric responded, "Sounds like we have an interesting summer ahead... I can't bloody wait."

xxXxx

The second week of OWLs went well. I was still kicking arse, still getting whispered about and stared at but nothing I couldn't handle. The head examiner, Madam Marchbanks, stopped me that Friday coming out of the very last testing period.

"Congratulations," the tiny woman said, smiling kindly as her winkles stretched like cracked varnish on an old painting, "My records indicate that you've sat for every OWL this year. I haven't had a student complete such a feat in quite some time."

I beamed, answering, "Not since Percy Weasley, and then Bill before him, the overachieving bastards. I'm trying to tie their perfect scores. You know, rile them up a bit. Keep them humble and on their toes. I think they both need the ego check."

Chuckling, the woman murmured, "Your professors warned me that you'd be funny."

"That was nice of them," I chirped sweetly, "People sometimes find my humor rather startling. It's like they expect me to breathe fire or spew pea soup or something equally unpleasant. But I'm actually quite charming, not to mention adorable."

Again, she chuckled, shaking her little head. She was tiny, substantially shorter than me, wizened and probably older than Dumbledore. "Regardless," she laughed, "I just thought that I would congratulate you on your accomplishment and wish you luck in your coming year. I look forward to seeing your performance on the NEWTs."

Beaming, I shook her smooth, tiny hand and answered, "Thank you, Ma'am. I look forward to see you again as well."

We parted ways. I wandered outside. The twins had Friday afternoons free, so we'd arranged to meet up near the lake. The boys were actually in the lake when I found them, both shirtless, their trousers rolled up past their freckly knees as they waded through the cool, murky water.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, shedding my boots on the bank and splashing out to join them.

Fred scooped me up off my feet bridal style and twirled me through the air and kissed me fiercely in greeting, crushing me possessively against his beautiful freckled chest.

"Oh, get a room," George grumbled, skipping flat stones across the rippling surface.

"That's a good idea," I teased, hanging my head backward to shoot my friend an upside down grin, "Do you reckon your dorm is empty right now?"

"Nah," Fred chuckled, blowing a light raspberry against the hollow of my throat, "Lee likes to get in a late afternoon wank. It's kind of awkward to walk in on, so we all try to make ourselves scarce."

I snorted, slapped him a bit, commented, "In the future, feel free not to share such details. Now, I repeat, what are you doing?"

"Waiting for you, of course," George answered, flashing an impish smile, "My twin wants to throw you in."

"What? NO! FRE- AHHHHH!!"

I came up spluttering, to the sound of the twins' raucous laughter. I was waist-deep in the lake, and, after spitting tepid water out of my mouth, fighting my limp, drippy blonde hair out of my eyes, I glared and hissed, "You're awful. Both of you."

"Don't be mad, love," Fred cooed sweetly, "A swim is traditional after exams! It's good luck!"

"My arse!" I grumbled, "You just wanted my shirt soaked through. Pervert." Not waiting for an answer, I flopped into the surprisingly pleasant water and floated on my back, pointedly ignored the continuing laughter on the bank.

Within seconds, both twins had jumped in to join me, coming out to float on either of my sides. We stayed like that for awhile, quiet and comfortable.

"So," George finally announced, "One more year. Where has the time gone?"

Fred made a low noise of agreement, splashing me a bit and adding, "Seems like just yesterday we were being humiliated by a scrawny first-year on the train."

"_And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon_..." I sang softly, giggling when I sensed the twins' confusion. "Never mind," I said.

An easy silence settled, drawing us together in the peaceful moment that I found myself wishing would never end.

When it inevitably did, I hexed the twins' eyebrows purple and ran like hell, laughing all the way back to the castle.

xxXxx

Instead of coming to personally collect me that evening (like he'd been doing ever since getting over the effects of the moon halfway through the first week), Remus let me stay longer at Hogwarts for one final dinner. I thought maybe he was actually trusting me again, but, I found out later, it was actually because Harry wrote and begged him, swearing that he just wanted to pick my brain for some more spells he could use during the task.

Which was true. That was _his_ main motivation. The twins and Cedric, however, had an entirely different purpose in mind when they talked the poor hapless boy into their nefarious plan.

"Consider it an intervention," George laughed, his arm around my shoulders as he and his brother practically dragged me toward the Great Hall, "You're not going to be able to keep avoiding public meals next year, you know? The elves in the kitchen are nice and all, but they have no sense of humor. It's like sarcasm is a whole other language to them. Your talents are being wasted."

"Besides," Fred contributed from my other side, his arm low around my waist, "What's the point of having a smoking hot girlfriend if I can't show her off to the entire student body and make them all melt with jealousy?"

Sending a quirky grin over his shoulder, Cedric contributed, "I just enjoy your engaging company."

We walked into the Great Hall, and, like was usual for whenever I had shown my face in crowds during the past two weeks, conversation grew momentarily hushed. All eyes on me. It's an... itchy feeling, knowing that everyone's watching you, talking about you, most likely badmouthing you. For me, it was made even worse by the fact that probably sixty percent of those present had happily taken part in viciously wearing my admittedly high self esteem down to a half-insane nub.

But I wasn't like that anymore; I'd gotten better. And I'd resolved to never let anyone or anything make me feel that bad about myself ever again.

"You alright, love?" Fred whispered gently, giving me a light squeeze.

I hadn't realized how much I'd tensed up.

"Fine," I replied, staring down a gaggle of gaping Hufflepuffs, "Just debating whether or not throwing a few hexes would be worth the unavoidable lecture."

George chuckled, "That's our girl."

We chose to sit at the far end of the Gryffindor table, Cedric and I both causing a fuss with our presences, even more so when Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny joined us after just a few short minutes. Lee Jordan came over, as did Cho Chang. Joshua Lerner and Matthew Summerby, two Hufflepuff friends of Cedric's, let their curiosity get the better of them and wandered over about halfway through the meal. They seemed intimidated by and maybe even a bit frightened of me, but they made the effort. And they were at least pleasant and polite, which was more than I typically got from people; I suspect that Cedric, bless his little heart, may have had words with them beforehand.

It was nice. I chatted with the girls about silly girly things, whispered with Cho a bit over our hunky boyfriends. I told jokes that had had even Lerner and Summerby laughing out loud. Lee--who'd always been cordial but never quite personable in my company--was very impressed with the twins' lurid eyebrows, so I taught him the hex I used (with Harry as our Official Guinea Pig Bitch).

When it was time to go meet Uncle Remus in Hogsmeade, Fred insisted on walking down with me, biding a long, loud, theatrical goodbye to his equally absurd twin. I hugged Cedric and Cho, gave Harry a fond punch on the arm and made Ginny promise to write even though we'd be seeing each other again in less than a week when I came to watch the third task.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Fred teased, tucking me tight against his side as we enjoyed the leisurely late-twilight stroll. The weather was still fair, warm and calm, the sun just barely gone. We had the time so we'd decided to walk the long way to Hogsmeade, to enjoy that much more of each other's company.

I let my head fall to rest on his strong shoulder, humming, "No, I suppose not... things are going to be a lot better this year, I think."

Laughing, Fred agreed, "Definitely."

As we neared the front gate, I heard a small voice hesitantly call, "H-Hello? Is anybody there? Can you help me, please?"

Fred and I jogged together toward the source of the noise, quickly finding a small, sandy-haired Slytherin boy hanging from one of the two winged boar statues on either side of the gate. He was held up by the waistband of his pristinely white y-fronts, which were stretched almost up past the top of his head. It was the most painful-looking wedgie I'd ever seen.

Indeed, the boy seemed like he might've been crying, dark eyes red-rimmed and glassy, round bottom lip and tense limbs shaking. He had a red-purple bruise on his cheek and blood crusted under his swollen nose and on his disheveled collar and green tie. I guess that he must've been beat up before being strung up.

"Oh wow," I chimed, immediately bringing out my wand, "Don't worry, we'll have you down in a second."

"No! Wait!" he yelped, too late to stop me from flicking my wand in an attempt to levitate him off the boar's hooked tail. All it did was cause his pants to stretch even further, the boy himself to whine and kick futilely as he dangled far above the ground. "I already tried that," he whimpered, scrambling for a nonexistent foothold against the tall stone pillar, "It's charmed."

"Crap," I muttered, "Sorry! Just, uh, hang on. Pun not intended. Sorry. We'll get you down." I kicked off my shoes and climbed the gate, Fred waiting below in case he had to catch me. I reached the boy, putting my arm around his tiny waist and pulling up a bit to relieve some of the weight. Though it wasn't much weight, I'm sure it must've seemed like a lot when it was constricting his poor nethers.

The charm wasn't at all complicated to remove. A joke, actually, clearly the work of only a first- or possibly second-year student. One quick, general counter and I was lifting our unfortunate Slytherin's pants off the boar's tail, carefully handing the lad down to Fred. I gave the menfolk a few moments of privacy to get the briefs out of the boy's crack before jumping down myself.

"Are you alright?" I asked the boy, tilting his face a bit so that I could get a better look at the angry bruise encompassing almost his entire left cheek, "Do you want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

He flinched, blushed, grumbled, "I'm fine. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered, magicking away the blood and dirt on his face and clothing, repairing a ripped pocket on the front of his shirt. Gently probing at his nose and determining that it was not broken before waving off another spell to lessen the swelling, I questioned, "How long were you hanging up there?"

His blush grew more severe, shame-filled. "Since before dinner," he admitted, meek and unable to meet my gaze.

Tutting softly, I offered a small smile and said, "That just won't do. Growing boys need to eat. How about you walk with us into Hogsmeade, and I'll buy you a nice sandwich at the Three Broomsticks?"

Startled, the boy stuttered, "I-I. Well. I-I'm only a first year. W-We're not supposed to."

The gate began to creak open, and Professors Sprout and Hagrid stepped out from behind the wall. Professor Sprout had a basket of fresh green seedlings, and her chubby little hand was in the crook of Hagrid's massive elbow; Hagrid was carrying a huge wooden crate on his opposite shoulder. Both professors had fond, gentle smiles for me.

I began to wonder how long they'd been standing there listening.

"Normally," Professor Sprout said with a small, kind grin, "I would not allow students to be outside the grounds."

Fred and the Slytherin boy shifted nervously.

"However," she went on, flyaway grays erupting from beneath her patched hat to frame her round face, "If Mr. Weasley promises to have Mr. Raeburn back in his dorm before curfew, and if the outing can be kept discrete, then I believe an exception is in order."

"Thank you, Professor," I beamed, "Fred will have him back. Right?"

A bit stunned, Fred quickly agreed, "Oh, ya. Ya, of course. I'll be the best chaperone ever."

Chuckling gruffly, Hagrid commented, "I 'ave a feelin this is trustin the wolves to guard the sheep, but yeh kids go 'ave fun. No mischief, mind. Gotta be settin a good example fer the younger years."

"We always do," I laughed, taking Fred by one hand and Mr. Raeburn by the other, "See you later, Professors. Have a good night." And with that, the three of us wandered off through the gate.

xxXxx

The Slytherin boy's name was Quentin Raeburn, and all I managed to get him to tell me about the people who'd beaten him up was that they were from his own house, that they picked on him because he was small and because, although he himself was a pureblood, his mother had recently given him a muggle-born stepfather and a half-blooded baby brother.

Quentin was a nice kid, quiet but smart and seemingly in awe of the warm, bustling interior of the Three Broomsticks. I had to keep reminding him to eat instead of people-watch. As far he knew, the boy told me excitedly, he was the only first year who'd ever been to Hogsmeade. He couldn't wait to tell his best friend, a first-year Ravenclaw named Stewart Ackerley.

Remus arrived right on time, at little perturbed by Fred and Quentin's presence. I said my farewells to both, earning some random whistles and catcalls when I kissed Fred goodbye. I made my boyfriend swear once more to get Quentin back safely to his dorm, made Quentin swear to let me or Fred know if he had anymore problems with being picked on. I then let my godfather escort me back to the Burrow and scold me a bit for encouraging delinquent behavior from first years. Once I explained what had happened, he calmed down considerably and even looked a bit proud.

The weekend was nothing special. I wrote back and forth almost constantly with Fred, giving my owl Mercury a nice workout. Fred had no trouble taking Quentin back to his dorm, and he and George had been providing the boy with a bit of bodyguard service ever since, not to mention testing some new products on Quentin's tormentors. (Figuring out exactly who they were hadn't been difficult; I've found over the years that bullies tend to lack subtlety along with creativity and intelligence and normal human empathy; it's all just part of the package.)

Mrs. Weasley gave me some more knitting lessons (socks!), and I taught Mr. Weasley how to play Monopoly on an old set he'd managed to procure for himself (though a lot of that time was spent just explaining the game tokens themselves; a thimble, indeed). Bill arrived from Egypt on Monday, excited about going to see the task. He demanded an evening at Coven with Tonks, Ozzy, and me, which was a lot of fun but far tamer than my previous excursion (and did not end in tattoos or vomit of any sort).

I had an appointment with my shrink, which also went pretty well. We'd scaled back to only seeing each other about once a week and were already talking about going to once every two weeks since I was making so much progress. It was good to hear that I wasn't quite as crazy anymore (though I had little hope for ever again being able to call myself truly sane).

The morning of the task came. Rita Skeeter's awful article about Harry came out, calling him "disturbed and dangerous." I seethed all through breakfast, plotting my revenge. Bill kept cracking wary jokes about wanting to be warned of any schemes in advance so that he could get himself out of the line of fire.

I travelled to Hogwarts with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, where we were all going to surprise Harry and visit with him during the family time before the task. I was eager to see my godbrother and Cedric as well, who had written me several times making sure that I'd be there because he wanted to introduce Cho and me to his parents.

On the way to meet the champions, however, I excused myself on a trip to the loo and took a quick detour to the dungeons and Snape's private store room instead. I was looking for something hideous I could dose Rita Skeeter with, some bubotuber pus or possibly some Veritaserum, if there was any in stock; it would've been pretty amusing to force that shrill bitch to tell the truth for once in her miserable life, but I wasn't sure that punishment alone would be harsh enough for the slandering hag.

I easily broke into the store room; I'd been doing it since my first year and was very familiar with the cell-like enclosure, its dim, spooky lighting and immaculately organized rows of tightly clustered, free-standing shelves. I browsed a bit through the stacks, considering my options.

About three rows in, I turned away from a canister of high-grade dragon liver and jumped nearly out of my skin when I came face-to-face with Professor Moody. "Hufflepuff's hemorrhoids!" I gasped, chuckling weakly as I tried to get my heart rate back to normal, "You scared the daylights out of me!"

The man kind of freaked me out in general. Never mind that he'd probably saved my life when he found me after I cracked my skull open falling down the stairs. He was still just... off. Everybody thought he was a great professor and a great man, which might've been true, but he didn't even try to hide the fact that he didn't particularly care for me. His creepy fake eyeball and scarred face only made him that much more imposing and unnerving. And, I don't know, something about him felt... wrong. Like wearing shoes on the opposite feet. Irritating and uncomfortable.

The former auror said nothing, fixed me with a calculating scowl as his sinister false eyeball rolled about in its mangled socket. He leaned heavily on the cane in his left hand; in his right hand, he had several glass ingredient containers.

I smirked. "I didn't see anything if you didn't," I offered hopefully, "Far as Snape's concerned, we can both be just thieves in the night."

"Fine," he growled in reply, all-seeing gaze hostile and unsettling, shifty, "Get out of here."

For some reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. "Ya, in a minute," I stalled, trying to keep my distance as I backed further into the store room, "I haven't found what I'm looking for." I probably should've taken the opportunity to make a run for it, but something wasn't right, and I didn't want to get within arm's length of the threatening auror blocking the path to the exit. My plan was to go around the other side of the shelves and bolt.

Moody looked like he might growl again, so I cut him off before he could, my eyes flicking down to the ingredients he held. "Powdered bicorn horn and shredded boomslang skin?" I observed teasingly, only because I default to humor in prickly situations, "Brewing up some polyjuice, eh, Professor?"

He said nothing but his expression grew even more dark and disturbing. The man slipped the ingredients into his coat pocket, his gnarled hand emerging wrapped around his wand.

As soon as I saw the handle, I dove between the nearest stacks without thinking, barely dodging a stunner that flew past my ear and hit the farthest shelf, exploding the ingredients there in a monstrous chemical reaction that let loose a horrid gurgly shriek (like whistling fireworks that had been thrown into mud). I crawled frantically away as the broken ingredients mixed and hissed and the closed room rapidly filled with a noxious, pale gray fog, as the clearly insane professor's clunking limp clunked along in my wake.

Coughing as quietly as I could manage, pulling my t-shirt up over my mouth and nose, I scrambled along on all fours. My knees and palms got scraped to hell. My eyes teared up, my throat got scratchy, my head light. But I had to concentrate on staying conscious, on keeping shelves between Moody and myself. I didn't understand anything about the situation except the fact that I was in danger. I took my wand in hand and held on for all I was worth.

I stopped suddenly, realizing that I could no longer hear the old man's cane or false leg scuffing against the floor. I backed myself into one of the walls, eyes wide and wild but unable to discern anything through the thick cloud. My skin was starting to get tight and achy. My head kept getting lighter and lighter until it felt like it was floating a few inches off my neck. My neck hurt. The forward-most part of my brain throbbed, flushed with a strange warmth like too much blood was gathering just behind my frontal bone.

I thought I saw a dark, hulking shape in the fog, becoming more distinct as it moved toward me. I tried to lift my arm, tried to shout a spell, but neither my limbs nor my voice were cooperating any longer. And everything around me was growing fuzzy and... swirly.

It was hard to remember what was going on, why there was panic welling up in my chest. Why I was having such a hard time breathing.

The dark shape in the fog emerged as Professor Moody, wearing an expression of pure malice and a Bubble-Head Charm. He looked pretty much unaffected by the strange cloud.

I wondered, briefly, why I hadn't thought to do such a charm on myself. Oh well, I mused, too late.

And then the professor was standing over me, raised his wand and brought it down with a flash of red. And I could no longer think about anything at all.

xxXxx

_I woke to someone poking me repeatedly in the forehead, a little-girl voice whining, "Stella! Mummy says you have to get up!"_

_Groaning, I rolled over in an unfamiliar bed, opened my eyes to a... vaguely familiar room. I sat up. Looked around. Was sure of it: I was in my old bedroom, in our old house, where we lived before Dad got arrested. Great Uncle Alphie's place. The large room had been repainted, from pink-and-white stripes to an explosive crimson red. Quidditch and band posters hung crookedly from all the walls, and the pile of dolls and stuffed animals on the big squashy window seat had been substantially scaled back, replaced mainly with discarded clothing and shoes and, strangely enough, quidditch gear. My old child's bed was no longer present, replaced with the beautiful four-poster canopy in which I found myself, my long legs tangled in soft black sheets._

_I glanced down, saw a little blonde girl standing patiently beside the bed, rocking back and forth on her tiny bare feet, swishing her frilly pink skirt around her skinny legs. She couldn't have been older than five or six, and her eyes were bluer than mine, bright and open and framed by impossibly long lashes._

_"Who're you?" I asked, kind of lost. I remembered... something... fear and panic, a foul fog. But there was no trace of such a thing. There was just... this room. My room. A happy, well-adjusted room._

_The little girl wrinkled her adorable little nose at me, giggling, "You're silly, Stella. Now, come on! Harry and Uncle James just flooed in, and they're going to eat all the bacon before we even get any!"_

_"What?" I gaped. My head hurt. So did my chest. Like I'd recently almost drowned. "What are you talking about? What am I doing here?"_

_Frowning with concern, the little girl climbed up onto my bed, kneeled at my side and reached out to carefully feel my forehead. "Are you sick again?" she demanded, hugging me suddenly, snuggling into my lap. "Should I get Mummy?" the sweet sprite questioned._

_My arms wrapped around her miniscule body, petted her shaggy, golden-blonde hair. "No," I whispered, disturbed by the situation but... also kind of soothed by it. Curious. "I-I'm fine," I insisted, "I'll just, uh, get dressed now. Ok?"_

_"Ok," she chirped, planting a light smooch on my cheek before hopping off me, off the bed. Humming cheerfully under her breath, the girl skipped out of the room. _

_Alone, I just... took in my surroundings, tried to piece together what was happening. Feeling like I was on auto-pilot, I got up and wandered over to where my closet used to be, found that it was still there but had been turned into a walk-in with a cluttered vanity and a huge mirror that took up nearly an entire wall._

_I stared at myself in the mirror, saw that I was me in every way but also very different. I was still tall and lean and tan, but my body had more tone, subtle cuts of muscle in my arms and legs and flat stomach. My hair was longer than it had ever been, a riot of blonde waves spilling messily to mid back. It was... so strange. To see me and yet someone else entirely._

_The clothing options in the closet were vast and diverse and impressive. I had a hard time imagining anyone needing that many outfits. I settled on a pair of loose, well-worn jeans and a plain white tank top._

_I wandered through my room and then out of it, through a house that felt like one long case of déjà vu. I touched the pictures hanging in the hallway, noticing new ones had been added; they showed me and my mum and my dad over years we had never spent with each other, picnics and Christmases and quidditch matches that we never shared. Many of the photos included two other girls, one of whom I had met in my bedroom (a bright, smiling baby, toddler, child); the other girl was a little older, had straight black hair and, in all the pictures of her as a gangly pre-teen, she scowled a lot and glared at me while I posed coyly inside the frames. _

_The railing and the staircase showed signs of obvious wear, the dark wood lighter and smoother where countless hands and feet had gone up and down it. In the living room, I found that we had a different couch but the same coffee table, the same fluffy sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. Mum and Dad and I used to curl up on that rug sometimes, roast marshmallows and cuddle and laugh._

_I walked past the brilliant blue wall where Mum used to mark my height. Except the marks for me didn't stop at two-years-old. They stretched upward, notches and neat writing until "Stella, age 16" sat even with the top of my head. And there were two other sets of marks, one that stopped just below my shoulders at "Ariel, age 13" and one that stopped around my hips at "Meadow, age 5." _

_A nearby commotion drew my attention, and my feet carried me along until I found myself standing in the doorway of our sunny yellow kitchen, staring at... at something that just couldn't be._

_My mum was there, older but so much... lighter, happier than I'd seen her last. As if grief had never aged her. She wore a white sundress and a neat blue apron. Her blonde hair showed no signs of gray and was piled haphazardly atop her head, strands falling straight and perfect around her shapely mouth and warm brown eyes. She held a platter of scrambled eggs, dancing around the crowded table as she served out more portions, paused briefly to press a kiss to Dad's forehead. _

_Dad was... he was healthier, like he'd never gone to Azkaban and been tortured for twelve years. He was still fit and muscular, boyish and classically handsome, his long hair and short goatee sleek black and impeccably groomed, his blue-gray eyes bright as he joked with the man beside him. Uncle James. Who looked the same as I remembered him but almost two decades older, proudly wearing smile lines like battle scars around his wide grin and bright hazel eyes._

_Beside Uncle James sat Harry, thick hair its usual mess but lightning-bolt scar conspicuously absent. He was taller, more muscular, obviously better cared for. He tried and failed to duck out from under his dad's hand when the man gave the boy's chaotic locks a fond tousle. Harry pushed his fashionable rimless glasses up his nose and whined about being treated like a baby; he was fifteen-years-old, for Merlin's sake!_

_The girl from my room was there, the sweet little blonde thing laughing and chattering, standing on the chair next to Dad's to reach across the table for a napkin, getting her hand slapped playfully away as Dad transferred her to his lap, scolded about proper manners and tickled her until she was squirming and her ecstatic giggles filled the wide open room._

_The other girl was there was well, the scowling, black-haired girl from the pictures in the hallway. She was almost painfully thin, small and awkward and guarded. Her long hair obscured her pale face as she sulked into her breakfast, picking at the meager portion and occasionally sending jealous glances toward Dad and the tiny blonde. She wore black, baggy materials that hung from her bony frame like window drapes._

_Harry noticed me first, grinning brighter than I would've thought possible for him (like he wasn't constantly being crushed under the weight of saviorhood). "Morning, Stel!" he cried out, friendly and loud, stuffing his face without pause._

_"M-Morning," I stammered, only half-aware of being frozen and wide-eyed as everyone glanced my way, as the laughter stopped and their expressions grew a bit worried._

_"Are you feeling alright, my darling?" Mum asked, crossing the room in an instant and pressing a slim, cool hand to my forehead and cheek. _

_I was taller than her, I realized, by a half foot at least. I'd never realized that. "I'm great," I breathed, unable to look away from her warm brown eyes. My own eyes felt hot and swollen as I fought back tears of giddy, baffled delight. I seized my mother into a desperate hug, barely biting back a sob._

_"Sirius!" she scolded, rubbing my shaking back, "Did you let my daughter get concussed again?! No more frigging quidditch for any of you! That wretched game needs to be outlawed!"_

_A chair scraped back from the table, and then Dad was beside us, running his fingers through my hair as he probed my skull for knots. "She didn't get hit," I heard him say, "Honest, Leda. After last time, I would've had her straight to Mungo's just to be safe. What's wrong, baby girl? Did something happen?" He snarled a bit, adding, "Is it that boy?"_

_"What boy?" I croaked, perfectly content to never let go, to never move out of my parents' loving embrace._

_Dad chuckled, tugging playfully on my ear as he said, "Now I know you're taking the piss. Come eat some breakfast and quit making your mother think I've let you get another brain injury."_

_Reluctantly, I let myself be pulled away from my mum, let Dad guide me to sit beside him at the table. Mum fixed me a plate while everyone else stared, kind of concerned, kind of uncomfortable at being watched like exhibits in some kind of sick, strange museum. Conversation gradually started up again, not quite as loud._

_"Ari, don't play with your food," Mum scolded lightly, standing behind the skinny teen girl and gathering her long black hair away from her frowning face, braiding swiftly. It was easier to see that the girl was pretty, had Dad's gaunt, aristocratic features, Mum's brown eyes._

_The girl's frown deepened as she let her fork clatter to the still-full plate. "I'm not hungry anyways," she murmured, shoving herself back from the table, "I'll be in my room."_

_"You're coming with us today, aren't you?" Uncle James asked, practically twitching with excitement, "It just wouldn't be the same without my favorite little storm cloud."_

_The girl, Ari (Ariel?), huffed but grudgingly smiled. "Mum said I could get a kitten," she reported softly as she left._

_Dad made a vaguely disgusted noise, hiding his face behind a copy of the Prophet when Mum shot him a warning glare._

_"What's her problem?" I wondered aloud._

_"Just the usual teenage angst," Dad teased, winking, "Be thankful you didn't catch it quite as badly as your poor sister did."_

_"Leave her alone, Sirius," Mum scolded, "It's a phase, one that I quite clearly remember you going through back at Hogwarts. You brooded and tripped over yourself almost constantly during third year, sprouting wood every time the wind blew crooked. Then you showed up to fourth year twice as tall, three times as cocky, and four times as horny."_

_Dad flashed a bright grin and answered, "And that's when you fell madly in love with me, correct?"_

_Arching a thin blonde eyebrow, Mum responded, "Oh, is that the story we're telling the children these days? Not the one about you being absurdly obsessed and jumping on the staff table and singing ballads to me at the top of your lungs until I was so embarrassed that I agreed to go out with you just to get you to shut up?" She fluttered her eyelashes prettily, smirking a smirk I'd often seen on my own face after particularly excellent jokes told mostly at the expense of others._

_Harry, Uncle James, and I all laughed boisterously, even more so when Dad blushed, a seldom-seen pinkish tinge. He sulked a bit into his eggs, cuddling the little blonde girl in his lap and complaining, "Meadow, my love, they're being mean to me again."_

_"Don't be mean to Daddy!" she ordered cutely, shaking a tiny, disapproving finger at all of us._

_"But it's fun," Harry argued, sending a sly glance in my direction, "Not to mention easy. Besides, there's no one else to be mean to ever since Ari got all hormonal and terrifying. I don't fancy another kick to the bollocks."_

_"Watch that mouth, Harry James Potter," my mum ordered from over by the stove, "Don't think I won't tell your mother on you."_

_"Yes, Auntie Leda," he chimed rather insincerely, rolling his eyes so that only I could see._

_I giggled feverishly into my meal._

_The situation was still... absurd. Impossible. But I allowed myself to relax into it anyways, eating scrambled eggs and bacon and fruit, laughing with everybody. Uncle James teased about my older boyfriend (referring to him only as "that boy") until Dad looked like his head might pop. Harry was bold and confident, funny and just a bit crude: frighteningly normal. He joked around with me, and it wasn't at all awkward or sad; it was like nothing bad had ever happened between us, like we were the close, loving cousins I'd always wanted us to be. Mum promised Meadow ice cream if she didn't wander off in the Alley._

_When it was time to set out to the aforementioned Alley, Ari had not surfaced. Mum sent me upstairs to fetch her. Harry came along as well._

_"It's been a whole month since you broke up with Wood," he commented with an impish, easy-going smile that looked fitting yet strange on the boy, "When're you going to put your dad out of his misery and actually tell him?"_

_"I was dating Wood?" I questioned disgustedly, astounded at my ability to make bad decisions no matter what the circumstances (even in some odd alternate timeline)._

_Harry glanced and me strangely. "Is your brain damage coming back?" he murmured, "That's really going to hurt our chances at the Cup."_

_"I'm fine," I said, "Just... um... I had a weird dream... so I was dating Wood?"_

_"Nearly two years," Harry answered, regarding me skeptically, "Ever since you grew those monstrous tits and he realized there was an actual female on the team."_

_Only vaguely perturbed by the uncharacteristic wording, I nodded and muttered, "That sounds about right." I paused a bit and then gaped, "Wait, I'm on the quidditch team?"_

_Harry stared at me, stopped me in the upstairs hallway with a hand on each of my shoulders. "Ok, whoa," he said, "Now you're really freaking me out. What's going on?"_

_"Uh..." I stammered, "I'm... on drugs?"_

_"Oh," Harry answered almost immediately, rolling his eyes, "Well, way to be subtle about it, Stel. And whatever happened to sharing with your favorite cousin, eh?"_

_"Sorry," I said._

_He shrugged, chirping, "Whatever. So when's your first date with Fred?"_

_"Fred?" I asked hopefully, "Fred Weasley, right?"_

_"No, the other redheaded beater who's been madly in love with you for years," Harry went on, smirking and ribbing me lightly, "I can't believe he finally got the balls to ask you out. Ron said he's been all sappy and stupid ever since. Do me a favor and don't crush him, ya? I don't think I could take the glares at the Burrow, not to mention the retaliation from both twins. I'm meant to be talking Fred up."_

_Nodding, I replied, "Ya. Of course. Fred's great."_

_Ari was listening to loud music in her dark, all black room (the one across from mine that used to be Dad's office). The girl scowled when I poked my head in to tell her that she was wanted downstairs. She refused to engage in conversation even while Harry and I bantered comfortably back and forth. Harry had quite the mouth on him._

_Soon we were all in Diagon Alley, school shopping, I learned. Mum took Ari off to find her kitten. Ari scowled and nearly threw a fit when Meadow and I said we wanted to come, but Dad finally convinced us that we'd have more fun with the boys in Quality Quidditch Supplies._

_And it was fun, all of us taking turns chasing Meadow through the crowded streets, throwing her playfully over shoulders or up into the air whenever we caught her. In the quidditch shop, Dad, Harry, and Uncle James clustered around the newest broom, drooling. They professed confusion and concern when I didn't immediately join in with the same reaction. Apparently, I'd been trained to be a quidditch nut._

_"I... already saw that one," I explained dumbly, far more interested in the five-year-old hanging from my neck. She was so small and sweet and pretty. A vivid rainbow in tiny human form. She babbled about anything and everything, about how Uncle Remus promised in his last letter that he'd bring us lots of chocolate back from his trip to Switzerland._

_We wandered some more, meeting up with Mum and Ari and Ari's new black kitten that the girl was naming Zeus. I stuck close to Mum's side, watching her in awe. I tried to talk to Ari, but Ari was sulking and wouldn't talk to anyone but Mum and Uncle James. So I listened instead, and that was alright. Ari was quiet, rather intelligent but immensely insecure. I saw a dress that I thought would look nice on her, but when I told her so, she thought I was teasing and stomped off in a huff. Mum scolded me, saying that I should try to be more understanding toward what my sister was going through, that she was in an awkward phase and feeling very sensitive about her body, that she needed our full support._

_We spent hours together gathering school supplies, and afterward our group headed over to the ice cream parlor. Uncle James treated. Meadow batted her big sparkly eyes and flashed her dimples and charmed the old witch behind the counter out of extra sprinkles for herself. I hung back while everyone sat at a table outside, just watching, still mystified by the bittersweet sight of the family I was supposed have to have. I had no idea what was going on, but I was finding that I no longer cared. I didn't want it to ever end..._

_"Hey, Stel," another familiar voice greeted. _

_I turned and saw Cedric leaning against the wall beside me. He was wearing school robes, and his face was streaked with dirt, his hair messy and slightly damp with sweat. My friend graced me with a sad smile, nodding toward my almost-family and commenting, "They seem nice."_

_"They are," I murmured, "They... that's my family." Stubbornly, like just saying it could make it true, I insisted, "I have a mum and a dad and two little sisters named Ariel and Meadow. Harry and I get along, we always have. Aunt Lily owns an apothecary, and she's helping Uncle Remus fight for international werewolf rights. I play chaser on the House team, and Fred and I are going on our first date next weekend. He already wants to marry me." The back story was popping into my head. It felt true, real. I tried to believe wholeheartedly, selfishly that this perfect life was mine. All mine. Quidditch-induced brain damage and all._

_"Stel," Cedric sighed, pushing himself up off the wall, closing the distance between us, "You can't stay here."_

_"What are you talking about?" I demanded. My throat felt like it was on fire, my eyes filling with frustrated tears. "We're having ice cream!" I nearly shouted, "Meadow got extra sprinkles because she's so freaking cute!"_

_"None of it's real," Cedric told me softly, taking my hand. His skin was freezing, but his grip was strong. "Remember the store room?"_

_My surroundings were starting to grow hazy. I could barely see my family at the table in the distance, could barely hear their conversation and laughter. It was going away, all of it._

_"Stop!" I sobbed, trying to run to them, to catch them before I lost them again._

_Cedric held me back, with seemingly no effort. He pulled me closer to him until he could wrap his arms around me, until I was sobbing into his chest as the wonderful fantasy fell away around us._

xxXxx

_It was quiet._

_"I didn't think I'd be able to pull you out so easily," Cedric murmured, "You knew all along, didn't you?"_

_"I wanted it to be real," I croaked, exhausted in countless ways. My legs buckled, and the Hufflepuff guided me carefully to the ground. I felt... grass._

_I opened my eyes and saw that we were outside, sitting in the middle of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch._

_"It wasn't real," Cedric explained quietly, contentedly, his thick arm still around my shoulders, "It was the fog making you hallucinate the family you always wanted. Sort of an elaborate 'what if.' Be sure to tell the twins about what happened. It'll be the key to figuring out their daydream charm. And tease them a bit about not having thought of adding an airborne potion component to initiate and stabilize the effects. It's so obvious. And tell them the dosages have to be really small, no more than thirty minutes or people will get lost in their fantasies. I won't be around to save you if it happens again."_

_Calming down a bit, wiping at my eyes, I regarded Cedric for a few moments. He seemed a bit pale, and his chest was as cold as his hand had been back in the Alley. "Why are you here?" I finally questioned, "Are you a hallucination, too?"_

_"No," he said, giving a quirky, cheerless smile, "I'm dead."_

_"Oh," I replied. I frowned, hugging my legs tight against my chest and adding, "Am I dead?"_

_He chuckled, flicking messy fringe out of his brilliant gray eyes. "Nah," Cedric told me, "You're only unconscious. You'll wake up eventually. And my schedule is wide open, so I'll keep you company until then."_

_I nodded and picked a few blades of grass, fiddling idly. "How did you die?" I asked._

_"Voldemort," Cedric declared, offering a brief shrug, "He snatched me and Harry at the end of the third task, ported us out of the maze. I got the killing curse." Cutting me off before I could cut him off, the handsome seeker soothed, "Harry's fine. We made sure he got away."_

_Again, I nodded. I didn't know what else to say. My surroundings still felt completely genuine, the breeze and the sunshine on my skin, a clean, summery smell hanging in the air (with just a hint of pineapple). Yet, at the same time, the situation was entirely surreal. I was hallucinating a chat with a dead man, after all._

_"It's not fair," I pouted, glancing up at Cedric's handsome face. I could feel myself starting to cry again, angry and hurt._

_Cedric just grinned, toyed with a bit of loose thread in the worn knee of my jeans as he laughed, "Life isn't fair. But you already knew that. You knew that long before you knew me, love. And I'm alright. Really. I mean, I'm not thrilled, but it didn't hurt. And death has a way of putting things into perspective."_

_I couldn't find the strength to laugh with him, crying weakly as I murmured, "I'm going to miss you so much, Ced. I... I don't get to have many friends. And that makes the ones I do get really special. Priceless, you know? I hate the idea of losing you."_

_"That's ok," he chuckled, "I'd be pretty offended if you didn't."_

_That did finally get a laugh out of me. I smacked him softly, relaxing into his embrace, hugging him back, crying a little more and then going silent. It didn't feel weird at all. Except for the fact that Cedric was so cold, it was very comfortable._

_"Can you do me a couple favors?" Cedric asked, I'm not sure how much later. It could've been hours, as time seemed fluid and imprecise. Unimportant._

_I nodded, sniffling, "Absolutely. Name 'em."_

_"First of all," he said, still smiling even though I didn't understand how he could, "Don't be too sad for too long. You have more joy inside you than any other person I've ever met. It's... stunning, really. Rare. And I don't want to be responsible for making you hide it away from the world."_

_"Ok," I agreed with a weak cough, a halfhearted chuckle, "So what kind of mourning period are we talking about here? What's the Diggory-approved timeline?"_

_"Two weeks, maybe," Cedric thoughtfully replied, "A month, tops, if you must... And don't start drinking again. I know you'll be tempted, but Fred hates it when you drink. He's so proud of you for stopping."_

_I swallowed down a hot, hopeless lump in my throat. "What's second of all?" I asked._

_"Make Harry see that this wasn't his fault," the young man declared._

_"Probably not going to happen," I joked flatly, "Little bother is an insufferable martyr."_

_Laughing, resting his head on top of mine, Cedric said, "Ya, well, try anyways. If anyone can get through to him, it's you."_

_Nodding, I prodded, "What else?"_

_"Don't tell my parents about my tattoo," he chuckled, "Ever."_

_I laughed again, inexplicably and inappropriately amused. "I was going to get it worked into your eulogy," I teased, "Possibly even your epitaph. 'Here lies Cedric Diggory. He had a drunken purple butterfly on his bum.' But I suppose if you insist... what else?"_

_I felt Cedric's mouth curl up in what I could tell was one of his stupidest, dopiest, most besotted smiles. He pressed a chaste kiss into my hair and whispered, "Look after Cho."_

xxXxx

I woke slowly, dazed and sore, and was annoyed to find myself in a cot in the Hospital Wing.

(I had been spending way too much time in there lately and resolved to try harder to avoid the place from then on.)

The room was dark, but I was able to see Fred sleeping fitfully in the bed to my left, Dad transformed and snoozing on my legs. I struggled to sit up without disturbing either of them, peering about, trying to determine for sure if I was firmly back in reality. Because nothing really felt that much different.

In the midst of attempting to make this rather difficult distinction, I noticed that the Hospital Wing had one more resident: a glowingly pale yet very much awake Alastor Moody. He was propped up in the cot across and several down from mine, both his false leg and false eyeball distinctively absent. Without them and without the majority of his clothing and hair, the man seemed a lot less intimidating. He seemed small and old and tired, held together by nothing but scar tissue and stubbornness.

"You stunned me," I hissed, narrowing my gaze, "Arsehole."

His thin, mangled mouth quirked up into a bit of a dry grin. "You'll find that wasn't me at all, Black," he growled, voice unusually weary, "I've been the unfortunate victim of identity theft."

My brain, perhaps, was not yet back at full function. "Someone stole your credit cards?" I asked stupidly, confused. The odd exchange did absolutely nothing to convince me that I had broken free from the peculiar what-if I'd created inside my own head.

Moody stared across at me, apparently trying to judge if I was serious or just profoundly strange.

(I was, of course, both.)

"I was kidnapped," Moody explained, like the very idea was still rather painful and personally insulting, "Locked in my own damn trunk while some scum Death Eater walked around in my skin all year, plucking my arse practically bald to keep himself in polyjuice."

"Oooooh," I murmured, "That makes a lot more sense... actually, that makes everything make a lot more sense... I knew there was a reason why you creeped me out... well, not _you_. The arse-plucking imposter."

Moody snorted on the force of his unexpected, gravely laugh, seeming to startle even himself.

Before we had a chance to converse further, my godfather strode in from Madam Pomfrey's office, blowing absently on a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He nearly dropped it when he saw that I was up, catching the beverage in one hand and sloshing a bit on his robes and on the floor.

"Stella," he breathed, utterly relieved as he immediately moved to my bedside, "You're awake! We thought- they said you might not- how do you- are you alright?"

I laughed at his flustered stammering, soothing, "It was certainly a long strange trip, but I think I'm ok... unless I'm still hallucinating, in which case, where's the Swiss chocolate you promised us?"

Remus gave a worried, slightly hysterical guffaw, running his slender fingers through his tawny-gray hair. "I'll just go fetch the nurse then," he responded, scurrying back into the office, nearly slipping in the puddle of hot chocolate he'd neglected to clean from the floor.

I giggled at him. Then stopped, horrified, turning toward Moody once more and somberly, urgently questioning, "Is Cedric really dead?"

The old auror was not at all taken aback by the inquiry, not like anyone else would've been had I asked them straight out of the clear blue sky like that. He only nodded, the hole where his right eye should've been eerie and dark.

I cried into my father's warm fur until a golden new day spilled over the horizon.

xxxxxxxxxx

Aw, poor Cedric. I was just starting to like him... anyways, reviews are needed to appease Cedric's cheeky ghost so that it does not rise again to walk the earth and feast on the flesh of the living... or something... :D


	24. A Noble and Most Ancient House

Part 24 - A Noble and Most Ancient House

After Cedric's funeral, after his girlfriend refused to talk to me and ran off crying, I gathered all my courage and approached his mother. "I was a friend of your son's," I murmured, blinking away tears and vaguely regretting having turned down Fred's company for the undertaking, "I... I'm so sorry. It isn't right. He was one of the best people I've ever known."

Her glassy eyes smiling politely even while the rest of her drawn, delicate features couldn't manage the gracious expression, the woman responded, "Thank you, dear. I know he will be missed greatly by all his friends."

"That's not it," I sobbed, scolding myself for succumbing to emotion when I had so very much to say, "He... Cedric saved my life. Twice. And I hardly have any friends, but he was one of them, a-and... just... know that he's alright, ok? He's not... not in pain. It was peaceful, I promise. And... he wasn't thrilled, but it didn't hurt and..." I choked on a hysterical laugh. "_Death has a way of putting things into perspective_."

Cedric's mother stared at me, blank and open-mouthed, like she either couldn't process or just couldn't believe what I'd said. For a second, she looked like she might slap me. But, instead, she burst into tears.

xxXxx

"My grandfather died when I was six," Norah Diggory told me softly, staring at her son's fresh grave. We'd been talking for what seemed like hours, the rest of the mourners long gone or at least keeping a respectful distance.

I squeezed her hand, trying to give comfort while I could, while the momentary calm in my own emotional hurricane was giving me a moment of serenity and strength and clear thought.

Mrs. Diggory smudged at her cloudy gray eyes. "I was there," she said, "When he died. I'd been sitting with him all day. He was sick, you see. We both knew that he was slipping away. A-And I asked him, just before, if he was afraid to die. If it hurt." A broken laugh bubbled up from between her thin lips, seeming to startle the woman. She said, "He told me that death is a part of life, that tragedy provides the perspective needed to make joy feel that much more joyful... he smiled and patted my head and said that darkness always turns to light in the end, pretty as a sunrise. And then he was gone."

She sobbed briefly into her free hand, closing her eyes. "My baby is gone," she whispered, disbelieving.

There was nothing to say, so I said nothing.

Norah Diggory gradually composed herself, looked at me and declared, "He wrote home about you. He wrote us every week, and I remember when he first wrote about you."

I remembered my first meeting with Cedric, how he stopped Oliver Wood from raping me. "Your son was a hero," I murmured, "In the purest sense of the word."

Smiling weakly, Mrs. Diggory replied, "He didn't think about himself like that at all. He believed anyone would've done the same, and he didn't understand why you were so... surprised that he cared. He went on for pages about it. He was always... naïve, I suppose... I think that's why he liked the story about my grandfather, why he made me tell it to him so many times when he was small. Amos said he just wanted to hear about the man he'd been named after. I knew it was really because he believed that it was true, about darkness always turning to light..."

She trailed off, gaze growing distant.

"I've been in some truly dark places," I said, cursing the quiver in my quiet voice, "But the light has always found me, whether or not I wanted to, whether or not I thought I had the strength to go on... people will tell you that... that a loss like this will hurt less as times passes. It really doesn't, but you do learn to live in spite of it. Some days are better than others. Some days getting out of bed is just too painful. But it is worth it... to go on, I mean. It's worth it to live, even if it's a whole life spent waiting and hoping for the light to find you again..."

We sat together in silence, staring at Cedric's crisp new headstone.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Diggory told me, giving my hand a fond pat, "Thank you for... well, just thank you. I'd like to be alone now."

I nodded, stood, said, "Please, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything at all. Ever."

She nodded back, a weary movement. She seemed to have aged a hundred years just over the course of our conversation. "Of course," she murmured, "And don't you hesitate to do the same. Come by and see us whenever you like... I think Amos would be very fond of you, when he's feeling a bit more like himself."

We exchanged one more heavy glance. And then I turned and walked away, hugging myself and crying and looking for Fred. I wanted nothing more than to hide myself in his broad chest, in the warmth and strength of his arms around me.

xxXxx

I was told, after waking from my three-day-long hallucination, that the Moody imposter was actually Barty Crouch Jr., Crouch Sr.'s son who was supposed to have died in Azkaban and who Dumbledore suspected was the person that put the Trapdoor Curse on me after I cracked my head open falling down the stairs. In keeping with his practice of doing terrible things to poor little Stella Black, Crouch Jr. stunned me the morning of the third task and threw me in the trunk with the real Moody. My absence was noticed but did not cause much worry; everyone figured I was stalking Rita Skeeter, laying in wait to enact the revenge I'd been planning. (I can't say that the scenario was very far off the mark for what I would've done had Crouch Jr. not interfered.)

The truth was not discovered until that night, until after the task, when Crouch Jr. went after Harry, when Moody and I were found locked in an enchanted trunk in the DADA office.

Moody was fine, slightly malnourished and extremely stir-crazy and missing an awful lot of hair but otherwise unharmed (unless you count the severely bruised ego). He looked after me as best he could while we were trapped together, his sight restored after months in the dark by the light from my charmed charm bracelet. (Afterward, he always had a bit of a soft spot for both me and Fred (and George, vicariously) for providing the useful trinket.)

But, at the time, I was completely out of it, the chemicals I'd been exposed to during the store room explosion having locked me inside my own mind, compromised my breathing to a frightening extent. At first, no one could tell exactly what was wrong with me, but Snape pieced the situation together from having seen his private ingredient stock in shambles when he went to fetch the Veritaserum needed to interrogate Crouch Jr.

They didn't know if I'd wake up; even the great potions master couldn't be certain of the exact effects of the accidental and highly unstable combination of ingredients; he assumed from the scorched state of my throat and lungs that I'd inhaled an awful lot of the potion, and the massive exposure had probably only made everything worse. An expert from St. Mungo's was able to determine that my brain was still functioning but couldn't tell much else. I was given various antidotes, none of which seemed to do any good.

But then I did wake up, all on my own. And I was pretty much fine. My airways had long since been restored, and I didn't seem to have any lasting brain damage. I was able to recount the events leading up to the attack as well as those of my hallucinations.

Dad said that it was a miracle I was alive, that I was damn lucky and should never again even _think_ about confronting anyone who I had any suspicions about, let alone doing such a thing by myself. He chastised me for probably a solid hour before switching his efforts toward complaining about having had to tolerate three days of my hovering hoodlum of a boyfriend (his words). He went on and on about how "that boy" was just plain rude, how he was a pervert and a degenerate and how I could do _so_ much better for myself.

Fred claimed that Dad had tried to bite him, pouting and sneaking a kiss during a rare moment of solitude during the two more days I spent in the Hospital Wing after waking. He said, as gently as possible for my benefit, that my dad was a jerk, that my dad hated him unjustly, abused him constantly, and wouldn't even let him hold my hand.

The story from Uncle Remus was that Fred and Dad had both been kind of obnoxious, but only because they were scared and angry and bored and had antagonized each other without end or mercy. My godfather did admit that Dad started most of the scuffles in one way or another, but Fred stubbornly talked back when he probably should've just kept his mouth shut (probably would've in any other situation). Insults were thrown, as was blame, which was usually followed shortly after by fists. And, yes, Dad did try to bite Fred (while in human form, oddly enough), but only after Fred called him a coward for how he acted the year before, how he watched from the shadows while I fell apart when _one damn word_ from him would've been enough to keep me together. Fred told him to grow a pair, to step up and to stop making excuses for why he couldn't be with me when I so clearly need my father to be a _real_ father. (I had no idea my boyfriend was harboring such resentment and resolved to talk to both him and Dad about it once I was feeling more up to dealing with their macho lunacy.)

The pig-headed pair only finally called a tentative truce when Madam Pomfrey revoked the privilege of having a soundproofed privacy curtain around my bed, forcing Dad to stay as a dog or risk being seen. My father and boyfriend continued to glare and snarl at one another, but neither wanted to be kicked out, so both decided to behave.

After Cedric's funeral, after my long talk with the fallen champion's mother, I walked with Fred out of the cemetery, clinging to him and crying and trying to make sense of the world. I knew that Remus would be waiting for us nearby, waiting to send Fred back to school and to take me back to the Burrow. But I didn't want to let my boyfriend go. Because Cedric had been right: I was tempted to drink it all away. And I didn't know that I could trust myself not to without Fred there to remind me of what I stood to lose by giving in to my sorrow.

"Stel," Fred murmured, stopping us suddenly, turning me to face him. His blue eyes were red rimmed and sad, worried. He cradled my cheeks in both his broad hands, just staring down at me for a few long moments before crushing me against his chest.

I screamed and sobbed, the sounds muffled by his already tear-soaked robes. I twisted my fists violently into the fabric, anchoring myself against the sudden threat of being swept away in a flood of grief and rage and fucking _injustice_. Sheer _helplessness_ against the evil that had taken my friend.

Fred just held me close, whispered over and over again that everything would be ok.

xxXxx

George came and got us some time later, cautiously reporting that Remus said it was time to leave.

I was exhausted, cried out and pretty much limp in Fred's embrace. He practically carried me over to my godfather, kissed me tenderly and promised quietly to see me that night. He handed me over to get a hug from George, who then handed me over to Remus. Both twins apparated with a _crack_; they'd gotten their licenses the weekend before the task and had been waiting to surprise me at a time that offered the most potential for comedy and fun. Given the tragedy, they had decided to forgo the plan, which I still think was a shame.

Uncle Remus held me close, petted my hair. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured, "I know Cedric was a very good friend to you."

Nodding, I croaked, "I miss him so much already. A-And I promised I would look after Cho, but she wouldn't talk to me. She barely even looked at me. I don't know what I did wrong."

"Give her time," my godfather replied, "His death is fresh right now for everyone. Emotions are at their highest, and we'll have to cope in our own ways before any of us can move forward."

I hummed in absentminded agreement, closing my eyes. My godfather was always so smart about those sorts of things.

Remus kissed my forehead, told me, "Dr. Fairchild wrote that you can stop by any time to speak with him. Would you like to do that now, or would you like to go home?"

"Home," I answered immediately, too wrecked to even think of dealing with my kindly old shrink.

With a sensation like slow, sucking death, Remus apparated us the short distance to the Burrow.

xxXxx

There were only a few more days of term left, and I spent those days moping by myself in the twins' bedroom. I was left alone, mostly, if you don't count Mrs. Weasley's bi-hourly attempts to soothe my hurt with food, Remus's gentle daily reminders that he was there for me no matter what, Tonks's periodic and largely unintentional offerings of clumsy physical comedy, and Bill's sporadic flying tackle hugs. At the time, I didn't particularly welcome the attentions, but I tolerated them, and I suppose they were good for me; they were a distraction, keeping me from getting too lost in my grief.

Fred came every night, the trip a lot simpler now that he could apparate. I didn't cry as much when he was with me, which was nice. Sometimes we talked until the sun came up; other times, we laid together in tranquil silence. Both options were soothing, the calmest and most normal I'd felt since waking up in the Hospital Wing.

The morning of the day that the Hogwarts Express was set to bring everyone home, I came down to breakfast expecting to be told I'd have to vacate the twins' room and take up residence with Ginny. Which would've been ok. I like Ginny. And it would've been better than being banished to Percy's old room. But I really just wanted to be with Fred and George. They always made me feel better, and I was dreading being kept apart from them merely for the sake of propriety. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop myself from begging to be allowed to stay.

However, I entered the Burrow's kitchen that morning and was vaguely surprised to see that Remus and Tonks were seated at the large table. Their presence itself wasn't altogether unusual; both had been frequenting the Weasley household quite often since I'd begun living there, more since Cedric's death. They just typically didn't show up for breakfast, and certainly not for the same breakfast. In fact, I mused absently, the event was entirely unprecedented...

"Hey," I grunted quietly, giving Remus and Tonks and Bill and Mrs. W sleepy hugs before taking my own seat.

"Good morning, love," Uncle Remus (the most awake and alert of the group) murmured, smiling graciously when Mrs. W immediately plopped an excessively hearty breakfast in front of me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to need to you to come with Dora, Bill, and me today," my godfather reported as he dealt politely with his own meal, "We'll be leaving straight after we eat."

Confused but unconcerned, I shrugged, did my best to choke down yet another plate of food I didn't want. Conversation was limited to remarks of a "please pass the" variety. It took me a stupidly long time to realize that Dora was Tonks and that she and Remus were sharing secretive glances across the table.

Afterward, as we were leaving, I finally thought to ask, "Will we be back in time to meet the train?"

"I don't think so," Remus answered, glancing back to share a brief glance with Bill, who had his arm slung protectively around my shoulders as we walked toward the edge of the Burrow's wards.

I was disappointed but didn't say anything, instead focusing on the way Tonks and Remus walked side by side, their shoulders almost touching, their hands occasionally brushing, so slight it could've been accidental except for that it clearly wasn't...

"Something's going on with them, right?" Bill whispered, apparently unaware that my godfather had slightly superhuman hearing, "They showed up together this morning, and they were staring at each other, and I keep thinking something's going on. Is it just me?"

I thought I could see Remus's ears getting pink.

Chuckling, I commented, "I'm sure they'll let us know when they're ready."

At the edge of the wards, my godfather stopped and handed me a small, folded slip of parchment. "Don't say it out loud," he instructed firmly, "Just memorize what's written, and then I'll burn it, and we can go."

"It's a Fidelius Charm?" I inquired, getting a bit excited when Remus nodded. There were very few secrets in my life that would warrant the use of such a charm; the first secret that came to mind was my dad and his whereabouts. I almost tore the parchment in half in my haste to get at the information it contained. And, since the need for secrecy is many years in the past, I can share that information now:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_.

xxXxx

After being apparated onto a seemingly deserted muggle street in London and being astounded by number twelve's spectacular appearance from thin air, I was elated to see my dad lounging lazily on the worn front steps of the old towering building. Dad guilty put out a cigarette he'd been sucking on and stood just in time for me to do my traditional squealing and hurling myself into his arms bit.

"Missed you, too, baby girl," he chuckled warmly, pressing a kiss to my temple, "Been holding up?"

"Well enough," I replied. I squeezed him desperately, trying not to get choked up as I questioned, "You're going to stay now, right?"

I felt him smile and nod, heard his deep voice rumble, "I've got a gorgeous, brilliant daughter to look after."

"Come on, you two," Bill interrupted brightly as he and the rest of my entourage caught up, "Let's take it inside."

xxXxx

Dad had warned me that Grimmauld was an awful house, that it was a dangerous house filled with nothing but dark magic and bad memories. Though I'd believed him, I let my excitement kind of override my common sense. Actually stepping inside for the first time was like... wandering into a dungeon--dark, musty, cold, eerie. The only thing missing was the ominous tortured screams coming from somewhere at the end of the long corridor. But, somehow, the quiet was almost worse.

I got chills, shuddering and shrinking in closer to Dad, feeling his arm tighten around my shoulders. He murmured a soft spell, and a few gas lamps and a cobweb-covered chandelier sputtered pitifully to life. The weak yellow light cast long, spindly shadows on the peeling black wallpaper and thin black carpet.

I'd been told to be quiet, as a larger-than-life portrait of Grandmother Black occupied the far wall and its inhabitant had gone absolutely raving mad. (Dad made sure to point out that that wasn't too far a leap from the original.) On one side of the portrait, a grand staircase led upward. On the other side, a nondescript wooden door concealed a set of narrow stone steps that led downward. We followed those into the cavernous basement kitchen. A thick, almost viscous layer of decades of dust and grime covered every surface of the huge room, the countertops and gigantic table and cracked tiles floors.

I would not be eating in there until a thorough cleaning could be performed.

Our little group assembled around the end of the table, Dad at the head and me right beside him and Bill beside me. Remus and Tonks made themselves comfortable across, sitting just a little too close to be strictly friendly and still pretending that they thought no one had noticed.

"We're relocating everyone here," Remus explained in his best professor voice, "You, the Weasleys, Hermione. Harry, eventually. It's safer."

"I agree," I agreed. I looked around expectantly, waiting for the next order of business. We hadn't sat down to pow-wow just for that little tidbit, but I couldn't read anything from the stoic faces that surrounded me.

Tonks took some initiative and cleared her throat, sounding suspiciously grownup as she announced, "Your father and godfather are worried about having you live in such close quarters with Fred all summer. We thought we'd all... have a chat. Lay down some rules."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, I glanced around the circle and saw that they were actually for real. I cracked up, the laughter as loud and as startling as a firework, echoing back off the cold stone walls. "I don't know if any of you people actually noticed," I chuckled, "But I stopped taking orders off any of you about two years ago, and there is very little hope of my starting up again."

"You're only sixteen," Dad murmured, frowning, "We only want to protect you... it's a little early to be getting so serious with a boy. I know you fancy yourself in love-"

"Fred and I _are _in love," I interrupted. It wasn't how I wanted the summer with my dad to start off, but I found myself staring him down and peevishly snapping, "Nobody is talking me out of that."

Sighing heavily, clearly trying as hard as I was to keep a hold of his temper, Dad answered, "Sweetheart, I remember what it was like to be your age. I remember falling in love with your mum, how right it felt. How bloody strongly I felt it. But I also remember being a teenage boy with raging hormones who would say or do anything at all to... well, you know..."

Both amused and indignant that he couldn't even say the real subject of the conversation out loud, I challenged, "What? Fuck? Ya, Daddy. Teenage boys are horny. I figured that one out for myself."

He frowned again, squirming uncomfortably as a rather boyish blush climbed up his sinewy neck.

Remus chose that moment to intervene, sternly declaring, "Stella, stop trying to shock your father. There's no need to be defensive or combative. We're just concerned that your... fragile emotion state will have you seeking comfort in inappropriate ways. We don't want you getting into a situation you aren't ready to handle."

"Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt," I flippantly announced, mentally grimacing as I remembered my encounters with Oliver Wood. Actually, it was rather insightful that they'd realized I might turn to sex for comfort. Except for the fact that they'd realized far too late to protect my so-called virtue.

Seeing that Dad's face was turning a furious red, I added, "And Fred had nothing to do with it. Not that it's _anyone's_ business, and I believe I've said this before, but he and I aren't having sex. I'm still reviewing my options as far as birth control goes."

I received looks ranging from blank to stunned to irate. With an annoyed eye roll, I questioned, "Is that all?"

"No!" Dad bellowed, all blustery and bothered, "You just... you can't... you didn't.... You are not allowed to have sex!"

Suddenly, I was just exhausted. That had been happening more and more since Cedric died, and all I wanted to do in such situations was curl up and cry until I could fall asleep. "Your objection has been noted," I told my dad.

He flinched back a little, seemingly stunned by the lack of emotion in my gaze.

I turned back to the rest of the intervention and asked, "Can someone show me to my room, please? I'm kind of tired."

Nobody said anything for a few moments. I thought I might've even heard a cricket off in the distance.

And then Tonks cleared her throat. "I'll take you up," she said, offering a weak smile as she rose to her feet (tripping a little when she moved away from the table), "Come on."

xxXxx

Trying and failing to initiate some girl talk, Tonks led me upstairs, past a row of creepy mounted house-elf heads and onto the first-floor landing. My room was at the end of the hallway and looked out over the lush, almost jungle-like backyard; my room was the most habitable one in the entire house at that point, a faint smell of muggle cleaning products hanging in the otherwise fresh air. A huge four-poster canopy bed, decked out in black linens and hangings, was pushed against the right wall; a tall dresser stood near the small closet. The wide window had a little seat attached, a sort of alcove with a black cushion nestled inside behind the gauzy gray curtains.

"Your dad spent the last three days cleaning this room for you," Tonks reported with a fond laugh, "The house has some major doxie problems, and he didn't want you ending up getting bitten and shrunk. He was very concerned that you might be eaten by a cat, even though I don't think there is one in the house."

I felt really horrible about what I'd said to him downstairs.

"Keep the door shut so nothing can get in," Tonks instructed, fiddling with a spot of peeling silver-striped wallpaper, "And don't wander. We'll all probably just be down in the kitchen if you want to join later. Otherwise I'll wake you for lunch... alright?"

"Do you think I should wait to have sex with Fred?" I blurted out.

Tonks seemed startled by the question, opening and closing her mouth a few times as her hair made a gentle slide from bright pink to a sort of murky green (her thinking color, she told me once). "I think that sex and love are very different things," she began carefully, "And you can have one without the other, but it tends to create problems."

With a cheerless laugh, I flopped down on the bed and responded, "So love without sex is a problem?"

"You know what I mean," she murmured. We sat together in the silence for a few long moments. "There's no reason to rush into anything," she finally commented, "As far as romantic locations, this house doesn't even register. And you're pretty much stuck here all summer."

I chuckled and sighed, snuggling down into the blankets. "Thanks," I said, "Your rational reasoning is refreshing."

I heard her laugh softly and then leave, shutting the door behind herself with a quiet _click_. I wept hopelessly until sleep took hold.

xxXxx

Several tense days passed. I mostly just slept, feeling depressed and discouraged, disappointed that my summer with my dad was starting out so horribly. I thought I was letting him down by not being... better. And I hated myself for thinking that way, hated him and everyone else for making me because I knew that loving Fred wasn't wrong.

Everyone took turns trying to talk me out of the funk, but I was pretty upset at all of them. The only subject I was interested in discussing was the one that no one seemed willing to brief me on: when the twins would arrive. I missed them like crazy and was writing all the time, but I had been warned that any mention of where I was or what was going on needed to be omitted for security reasons. I suspected the adults had some way of checking that I was doing so because the one time I tried to slip in a comment, the letter arrived with that half mysteriously ripped off.

Just before the twins finally did come to Grimmauld, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled out of sleep by a strange dream of Cedric playing with a little boy who had his cool gray eyes and tousled prince-charming hair. I sat up in bed, breathless and disoriented, and nearly bumped heads with Dad.

He was seated beside me, hovering, nervous and uncomfortable, unsure as he reached out to take me in his arms but stopped and pulled back at the last second.

It was like... like a rejection. And I burst into tears, flinging myself against him and sobbing, "I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

"Shhh," he answered, holding me close, rubbing my shaking back, "It's alright, love. It's alright. It was my fault. You're ok. Just breathe for me, love. That's it. You're ok."

When my episode had died down to the weak, gasping hiccups stage, I whimpered, "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he sighed. He squeezed me tight and very slowly explained, "I just... I missed so much. Sometimes I still expect to open the door and find you two-years-old again. I'm nowhere near ready to deal with my little girl being an adult or anything close to it."

I giggled humorlessly, teasing, "They say ignorance is bliss."

Dad snorted, "You've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to just ignore you gallivanting around with that boy."

"I do not _gallavant_," I insisted softly, "And Fred's not just some boy. He's my best friend. He's brilliant and funny and sweet... and if he wasn't dating me, you'd probably like him a lot."

"Your mum always said you'd fall in love with a prankster," Dad commented wistfully, sighing, "Karma and all."

"Give him a chance," I bugged. And, even though I was sure Fred wouldn't appreciate it, I added, "If you give him a chance, I promise not to have sex with him while we're here."

Dad was quiet for a few moments, weighing his options. He obviously wasn't thrilled with the idea of being nicer to Fred, but, on the other hand, it would get him the celibacy of his only daughter, and what father doesn't want that? "Clothing stays on at all times," he ordered, "And hands stay above it... and none of this sleeping in each other's beds nonsense."

I agreed with an eye roll, thinking that the sacrifice would be worth it if I could just get my father and boyfriend to get along. I wanted so badly for them to like each other.

"Alright," Dad said, kind of huffing as he finally pulled back far enough for me to see his crooked smirk, "But that hoodlum better behave himself. He really was quite rude to me, you know."

"So I've heard," I sighed.

xxXxx

The following morning, since I was feeling less like the whole world was conspiring against me, I allowed Dad to coax me out of my room for a proper tour of Grimmauld. He still wasn't pleased to be back in his childhood home, which he swore he'd never set foot in again, but, as we walked and talked, as Dad told fond stories about Uncle Regulus when he was young and showed me the hippogriff stable he'd made of their mother's bedroom, I could tell that he was adjusting.

We ended the tour in the expansive two-story library, where I excitedly began looking through all the old books it housed. Dad grew bored quickly and wandered away to sort out some lunch.

With him gone, I was free to climb the rather rickety old ladder that he'd warned me to stay off. Top shelf books tend to be the most interesting, after all, and I suppose I'm just naturally attracted to places and things that have been deemed off limits.

Unfortunately, as I was climbing back down with an armful of dusty old literature, my foot went right through one of the rotted steps. With a strangled cry, I began to fall, flailing as books went every which way and my body hurtled toward the ground.

I didn't hit, instead hearing an abrupt _crack_ and slamming roughly into a pair of outstretched arms. I opened my eyes (not remembering having closed them) and saw Fred grinning down at me.

"Well, look at that," he laughed, broad grin stretching his handsome freckled face, "Caught me a falling star."

"My hero," I beamed, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging desperately. "I missed you so much!" I mumbled.

"Missed you, too," he sighed. For a few moments, we just held onto each other.

And then a familiar chuckle interrupted our tender moment. "Alright, lovebirds," George crowed, "Break it up! We have serious business to conduct!" With another _crack_ the other twin was at my side, grinning gleefully.

Giggling as Fred set me back down on my feet, I bounced over to his brother and gave him a hug of his own. "I missed you, too, Georgie," I told him brightly, "Now what's with this serious business?"

"It's the summer before our last year at Hogwarts!" the boy excitedly announced, "We're going to have to start now if we want to line up the best pranks! It's time to outdo ourselves, and we need to prepare!"

"Well," I said with a particularly naughty grin, "I did have this one idea for the welcoming feast..."

xxXxx

We were left to own our devices for a solid hour while Mrs. Weasley scolded all the adults for allowing me to live in such a filthy home. As soon as she was finished with the tirade, she proclaimed that everyone would now be helping her clean the whole place from top to bottom.

Ron came to fetch us, cautiously approaching the table we three troublemakers were clustered around. "Um," he ventured, "Mum wants everyone in the kitchen."

We looked up at him, stared for a few moments, and then all busted out laughing.

Face and ears flushing an embarrassed, irritated pink, Ron stomped away muttering, "I hate it when they do that... bloody ominous..."

xxXxx

It was a slow summer, overall good but... frustrating, I guess. And not just because Fred and I had to content ourselves with sporadic, secretive, fully clothed makeout sessions. (What? I have needs!)

My eyes and throat seemed to be perpetually scratchy from all the dust in the air, which made me always look and sound like I'd just been crying even when I hadn't. Everyone took great pains to ask me how I was doing at least three times a day, which, while touching, got annoying fast.

I wrote a lot with Harry, but, like with the twins, I'd been told not to give any pertinent information about what was happening or where we were. It was hard; Harry practically begged for weeks before seeming to give up; his letters got brief and sarcastic.

On the other hand, the house had a widespread doxy infestation. Since Dad and I were allergic, we were excused from a lot of the cleaning until we could be sure that the little buggeres were cleared out. This gave me ample time to explore the library and the backyard, mostly with Dad as my constant companion, but, sometimes, when he was needed for Order business, all on my own.

Toward the middle of the second week since the Weasleys had arrived, I was wandering alone through a sunny copse of trees just out of sight of the back door, perusing the Animagus book and trying to concentrate on tapping into my "innate animal energy." I wasn't having very much luck at all though. Truthfully, I was kind of pissed off. Dad and Fred had gotten into a small spat at breakfast, as they tended to do every morning. The one that day had been about whether or not Falmouth or Ballycastle had better beaters, and it got very out of control very quickly.

And it's not like I minded that they couldn't ever seem to agree on anything. Both had been making an effort toward one another, and we'd all even shared some good evenings scheming and swapping prank stories by the fire, Dad, Fred, Georgie, and I trying to one-up one another until no one could go on for laughing so hard. But Dad and Fred just weren't getting past not liking each other, ruining every otherwise pleasant moment with sniping and snide comments. And I was so sick of hearing them argue and yell and pick stupid, petty fights over anything and everything. Over utter nonsense that was hardly worth the breath and certainly shouldn't have been worth upsetting me.

As if that weren't enough, I'd gotten a letter from Ozzy that morning; it was an apology for not being able to make Cedric's funeral and a packet of pictures taken the night we all went out to Coven together. Cedric looked so happy in all the shots, posed ones and candids, looping his arm around my shoulder or George's or both. My favorite was of him and George: George had grabbed him in the middle of putting on his shirt and was making the boy waltz. They kept stepping on each other's feet, laughing as they bickered playfully over who would lead.

Needless to say, I'd spent a lot of the morning crying, but... I don't know. The sadness was starting to fade. A little. It still hurt, knowing I'd never see my friend again. But I wouldn't trade the time we'd spent together. Not for anything. As the month-long mourning period Cedric had insisted on was drawing to a close, I was actually starting to make peace with his death.

With all this swimming around in my mind, the innate animal energy had no room to surface. I gave up with a huff and let myself collapse onto a crumbling stone bench beside a wide, shallow hole that I thought had probably once been a pond. I sat for a moment but couldn't sit still and was on my feet again in an instant, pacing. Restless.

I just felt... smothered. And, with Cedric at the front of my thoughts, so were the promises I'd made to him. Harry was a mess, blaming himself, most likely, and my efforts to help him weren't doing much good. I was supposed to take care of Cho, but I had yet to get her to even answer a letter. I wanted to march over and make her talk to me, but I had no idea where she lived. And that would've probably been cruel. Like Remus said, she needed time to grieve in her own way.

But patience had never been my strong suit, and I was going kind of nuts in the meantime.

Without realizing it, I wandered pretty far, well out of the area that had been deemed safe. Not wanting to be scolded, I started back, only I must've gotten turned around because nothing was looking familiar. No bench, no dry pond, no house in the distance.

There were Greek replica statues strangled in blackish green vines and a cracked cobblestone path that wound through thick, spiny trees whose roots had pushed up and made the trail treacherous. Another few minutes, and I was thoroughly lost, the sun disappearing as the dense canopy closed overhead.

I told myself not to panic. It wasn't a big deal. I was in my own backyard, for Merlin's sake. A protected location. Even if I couldn't find a way back, someone would come find me. Eventually.

And, in the meantime, I was getting to explore. Albeit in a rather creepy place, but I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. I figured I'd be fine as long as I stayed on the path. It had to lead somewhere, after all, and the most logical place for it to lead would be back to the house.

Then suddenly everything opened up again, the sunshine almost blinding and the cobblestones almost lost beneath a field of high yellow grass. I didn't notice at first, but as I continued on through those grasses, they started putting off some kind of sweet-smelling pollen. Soon it was thick in the air, grainy in my mouth and in my eyes, itchy all over my skin. I kept feeling like I had to sneeze but never did.

I rushed through that spot pretty quickly, still following the path into the trees again as it looped back around on itself. Within ten fifteen minutes, I was within sight of the house once more. Relieved and not wanting to push my luck, I went inside to find Mrs. Weasley puttering around putting together lunch. She greeted me warmly and bade me to sit, chattering about this and that. It was hard to keep track of.

My head was starting to feel funny. Kind of like it was too big, like it was a balloon filling with hot air. And even though it was difficult to concentrate on what Mrs. Weasley was saying, I was utterly _mesmerized_ by the sound of her voice, by watching her lips move and the sounds float out into the room, swirling and bright. Rosy pink with a hint of orange. Her fluttering hands made me think of butterflies, delicate and strong. Fluttering freckled butterflies...

She says she called my name three times before she could get my attention, giving my shoulder a little shake.

I pulled abruptly out of the strangely vivid daydream to find her face just a few inches from my own. Little upturned nose and tired blue eyes, crow's feet and smile lines and other assorted furrows a person could get lost in...

Mrs. Weasley frowned, brushing a cool hand across my forehead as she questioned, "Are you feeling alright, dear? Do you want to lie down?"

"I'm..." I tried to answer but only managed to trail off as the M turned into a long hum that hung in the air, vivid violet vibrato. I stopped only when I couldn't stop laughing, had to shut my eyes because the laughter exploded in front of them like solar flares. Too bright to stare directly into.

Mrs. Weasley was concerned, but, then again, having me laugh uncontrollably for seemingly no reason wasn't altogether unheard of.

By the time I got a hold of myself, Dad and Uncle Remus were there, kneeling on either side of me and also looking concerned. Their gentle words were spilling forth from their mouths in silky sky blue tendrils that sank instead of floating, twined ticklishly around my bare ankles and filled me with love.

"DADDY!" I cried, launching myself at him unexpectedly and managing to knock us both to the floor. Giggling once again, I snuggled into his chest and spun his velvety hair through my uncoordinated fingers. I hummed happily, something tuneless and off-key, and didn't cooperate at all with the efforts to pick my limp body up off the ground.

Back in the chair once again, I was treated to a cursory physical examination, checking that I hadn't hit my head or anything of the like. That was when Uncle Remus noticed the fine gold sheen of pollen clinging to my hair and clothing and skin. As soon as he pointed it out, Dad paled and started swearing under his breath, a stream of black shards tumbling out to mix with the rest of the colors and sounds I couldn't tear my gaze away from.

"Um, Moony," I heard him say, anxiously chewing on the corner of his lip, "You remember, er, the train ride, fifth year?"

Uncle Remus frowned thoughtfully and then glared. "You said you burned it all," he snarled.

"Guess I missed some," Dad said with a guilty shrug.

"Moron," Remus sighed. He turned back to me, finally managed to get my attention and asked, "Stella, love, were you wandering around in the backyard today?"

I nodded, snickering as my balloon head bounced back and forth. "I got lost," I declared, petting his gray-blonde hair, "Don't be mad."

Offering a soft smile, my godfather soothed, "I'm not mad at all, darling girl. Did you walk through some yellow grass? It would've smelled kind of sweet."

"Yes!" I chirped, proud of myself for some odd reason, "There was lots and lots and _lots _of yellow grass!"

Remus turned to glare at my dad again, hissing, "Lots and lots and lots. Way to go, Padfoot."

"I'm sorry," he answered, voice cracking pitifully. Splintered and sickly, miserable green.

I threw myself at him again, this time not knocking him over but close to it. "Don't be sorry," I insisted, momentarily distracted by the sound and sight of my own crystalline voice, "It makes you turn bad colors."

Squeezing me tight, Dad cleared his throat before murmuring, "Alright, baby girl. Let's just... get you cleaned up."

"Kay," I sighed, allowing myself to be picked up and carried out of the kitchen.

xxXxx

The yellow grass was a creation of Dad's that he had named Euterpe's Delight (after the Greek muse of music). It was a hybrid plant, a cross between several magical and mundane species (including highly potent strains of cannabis and opium poppies and Corinthian laughing wood). He worked on it from the summer before his third year to the summer before his fifth, when he thought he'd finally perfected it for recreational use after having successfully grown a crop in his own backyard.

The train ride to which Uncle Remus referred was the first and only time Dad actually allowed his fellow Marauders to try out his top-secret "Herbology project." The results were... mixed. Initial symptoms of exposure to the pollen include lightheadedness (check), uncontrollable laughter (check), inappropriate giddiness (check), and auditory synesthesia (check _plus_; seriously, listening to music on that stuff was like watching a firework show inside a kaleidoscope).

Unfortunately, since Dad had done all of his testing while locked alone in his room, he didn't know that the pollen did a bit more than just induce a pleasant high and enhance the musical experience. About an hour after initial inhalation, users experience a phenomenon known as _emotional transference_, which basically means that they start sensing the emotions of the people around them. Needless to say, the Marauders' being trapped on the Hogwarts Express with several hundred hormonal teenagers was not the best way to discover this fact. And after the horrid episode, Dad's friends had made him swear to burn every last trace of his creation.

Well, obviously that didn't go quite as planned.

But my experience really wasn't bad at all. Knowing what would happen, Dad was able to warn me ahead of time, isolate me for the most part. He was going to sit with me, but he was too upset with himself, and I was getting upset because of it. Dad, Uncle Remus, and Mrs. Weasley had all inhaled smaller doses of pollen and got to enjoy their own little highs; Uncle Remus and Mrs. Weasley were so pissed off at Dad that they weren't able to be around me either. With Tonks and Bill and Mr. Weasley and any other suitable adult off at work, the task of keeping an eye on me fell to the twins.

"Only you, Stel," George laughed, shaking his head as he lounged at the end of my bed, "This kind of stuff only ever happens to you."

"I had also noticed that," I sighed, snuggled happily in the warm glow of Fred's love, hypnotized by the innumerable shades of red in his hair, the glinting threads of gold and bronze and copper mixed into the fiery crimson, "Guess I'm just lucky."

Snorting and fidgeting restlessly as I curled myself around his head, Fred murmured, "That's one word for it." He was amused by the situation but still worried, even though I'd warned him not to be. His worry was a niggling little itch on the soles of my feet, annoying but not too bad.

"So what's it like?" George inquired, ever the researcher, almost uncontrollably curious, "Would you recommend this grass stuff?"

I shrugged and began to braid Fred's hair, reporting, "It's mostly nice. I can, like, _see_ sound. And I can feel what you guys are feeling. But I guess that wouldn't be so much fun if you weren't so sweet and happy all the time." Feeling their rather blatant interest, I added, "I doubt there's a commercial application. It's basically a whole lot of illegal substances bred together and magically amplified."

"But we wouldn't have to include that little tidbit in the patent application," George beamed, "And with some more R and D, we could probably eliminate or at least tone down the less desirable side effects... you think your dad would let us try? I mean, it's a great invention, and he put in a lot of effort. It's a shame he never worked it out."

"Uncle Remus is going to have it all burned again," I said, "He was pretty insistent. And Dad made me shower, but my clothes were covered with the pollen, too, and I stashed them under the sink for later experimentation. I guess the Marauders didn't have the best experience with it, but I think it has potential. It makes it really easy not to be sad."

I felt the twins' concern and realized that I may have spilled a bit too much information. I had talked to them a lot about what I was going through. And I knew that they weren't having the easiest time with Cedric's death either. But I didn't want to worry them. I had done quite enough of that already.

"I'm fine, guys," I sighed, wincing as I experienced the downside of sharing emotions: spiky little bursts at the base of my skull and around my heart. "Merlin," I groaned, "Just... just _stop_. Someone tell a joke!"

Getting more frantic as they realized they were hurting me, the twins floundered for a few seconds before George insistently announced, "What's the difference between a daredevil and a roomful of blondes?"

"Blonde jokes?" I giggled, "Seriously?" I thought he'd outgrown those around third year, when he and his brother treated me to nearly six months straight of them, in increasing dirtiness.

George grinned, merrily answering, "A daredevil has a cunning array of stunts."

I thought about it for a moment and then snickered, jabbing him in the side with my big toe. "Arsehole," I laughed, relieved as the mood turned considerably lighter, "Why did the blonde wash her hair in the sink?"

"Because that's where you're supposed to wash vegetables," Fred brightly supplied, "What does a blonde think are the last two words of the national anthem?"

"PLAY BALL!" I cackled, breaking up with hysterical laughter. I couldn't help it. My mirth was being magnified by two. Breathing became a bit of an issue.

By the time I calmed down, Ron had wandered in to see what was going on. I could feel that he was bored, slightly wary. And I could also feel that he really missed his own pair of cohorts. Was worried about them.

"What're you up to?" the boy inquired, taking a seat beside George.

The twin in question snickered, "Swapping some jokes. Stella's quite fun when she's stoned."

"I'm quite fun all the time," I argued pointedly.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after Sirius and Remus?" Fred lazily inquired, humming with satisfaction as I went back to braiding his hair. Well, he didn't realize that I was actually braiding it, but he quite liked the sensation of his hair being played with (even though he would never admit such a thing to anyone but me and (reluctantly) his twin).

"They both kicked me out," Ron reported, kind of miserably. He was so sensitive, even though he tried to pretend that he wasn't (but I guess with big brothers like Fred and George, the poor boy kind of had to). "They said that I was being mopey," he declared, "But I wasn't. I think that pollen stuff's just addled their brains. No offense, Stel."

With a bright smile, I taunted, "None taken, Mopey McMoperson." Throwing my arms wide, I ordered, "Now get your freckly bum over here and give me a hug. I don't get nearly enough Ron-love these days."

He radiated confusion. Surprise. Reluctance. And he wasn't going to submit to any hugging.

So I jumped on him. Well, I guess it turned into more of a tackle, bringing us both to the floor in a tangle of gangly limbs. I laughed and trapped Ron into a hug, tickling him when he tried to squirm his way free.

With the twins snickering in the background, I could feel that Ron was getting self-conscious and uncomfortable, so I let him off the hook. "Good hug, Ronniekins," I sighed, sitting up and beaming at the boy, "Thanks."

"Um... you're welcome," he replied, still kind of confused but at least a bit more at ease now that he was marginally sure I wasn't just mocking him. I even got a shy smile out of the boy, a wave of fond affection that I couldn't help returning.

xxXxx

A few days later, when Hermione arrived and pretty much the first thing Ron did was make her cry by saying something stupid and insensitive, I had to rethink any kind of affection I'd been feeling for my boyfriend's youngest brother.

Glaring across the table that Hermione had just fled from, shoving back my own chair to chase after her, I snapped, "Real nice, Ronniekins. You know, you're never going to have a chance with her if you don't quit deepthroating your own bloody feet at all available opportunities."

Fred snorted, and George sniggered.

Ron bristled and blushed at the imagery, going back to shoveling food in his mouth and insisting, "I didn' do anyfing! She's barmy!"

I shot him a look of disgust and stomped away, trusting that the twins would try to talk some sense into the tactless teen.

I found Hermione huddled outside on the front steps, hugging her skinny knees and sniffling weakly, shivering a bit in the overcast afternoon. I sat down beside her, put my arm around her shoulders and didn't say anything for a few long minutes.

"George is still available," I pointed out, grinning kindly when the bushy-haired girl glanced at me in confusion, "In case you ever get sick of Ronnie's bumbling."

She remained disbelieving for a few more seconds before tearfully giggling, "Are you trying to set me up with George?"

Smirking, winking, I declared, "Well, he is quite a lot more charming and intelligent than Ron is. And, in addition to making you laugh at least twice as often, I'm sure he won't make you cry even half as much. Gotta like those odds."

Hermione sniffled a bit, sighing, "I just... I don't understand why Ron has to hurt me like that. We're supposed to be friends. And even if we're never anything more, I would hope that he would value me enough as a friend to put more effort into not making me feel so horrible."

"Ron's a speak-then-think kind of bloke," I pointed out, "But he's not malicious. I know he's not doing it on purpose." After pausing briefly, I added, "Not that that's an excuse or anything. Just... well, you know my solution to the problem. Once you go twin, you won't want their kin."

Again, my nonsensical comments got a laugh from the girl, a brightening of her general demeanor. I counted it as a victory.

The clearing of a throat drew our attention to the walkway in front of the house, where Professor McGonogall stood watching fondly.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, Miss Black," the old Scottish witch greeted as we stood, "I hope you're both well."

"Tip-top, Professor," I chirped, letting Hermione hide behind me a bit as she smudged at her bloodshot eyes, "And how are you on this lovely English day?"

The gray sky chose to contribute to my sarcasm by letting loose the downpour it had been threatening with the entire morning.

Cracking a reluctant smile (as she tended to when dealing with me), McGonogall pulled her cloak tighter and replied, "Just fine, Miss Black. On my way to an Order meeting, actually."

"Oh," I answered brightly, not even trying to hide my excitement, "Well, then I guess Hermione and I had better start rounding up the uninitiated so that we can keep them out of your hair. Come on in."

xxXxx

I had grown to look forward to Order meetings for pretty much just one reason: it gave me a chance to be alone with Fred. And the promise of a few uninterrupted hours in the company of my wonderful boyfriend had me downright cheerful.

Still, being left out did sting a bit. The twins were quite obsessed, actually; they were both of age and deemed their exclusion to be an insult of almost epic proportions. They had tried all sorts of methods for gaining entry, none of which worked.

However, that day would prove to be most productive in their quest.

I sacrificed a bit of my Fred-time to get George and Hermione talking. It wasn't particularly difficult; George really was more of an intellectual match for the girl. Plus, he was on his very best behavior (not that that's saying much) and (more importantly) out to keep a permanent smile on the bookworm's pretty face. My boyfriend and I left them together after about twenty minutes or so and had ourselves a rather lovely afternoon.

By the time we came back, George was already halfway through a prototype for what would be known as the Extendable Ear.

"Hermione won't let me recruit her as a permanent member to our cause," he complained, beaming and huddled together on the floor with her and Ginny, who was looking bemused and playing with a long piece of fleshy string. Winking, George added, "And I think that's a shame. Our gang could definitely use another gorgeous female genius added to the ranks."

Chuckling, blushing helplessly and for once oblivious to Ron's heated scowl, Hermione answered, "He's just being silly. The idea was all his own. I really didn't tell him anything he couldn't have found in a book on eavesdropping charms."

"But that's why you're amazing," George argued, "You allow me to skip the book step entirely." He suddenly pounced on the girl and just about squeezed the life out of her, theatrically crowing, "I think you underestimate just how much I dislike the library! Your assistance is priceless! For the love of all things holy, please don't deny me the limitless fount of your knowledge and brilliance!"

"Easy, Georgie," I laughed, walking over hand-in-hand with Fred, "You're about to strangle your golden goose."

He let Hermione go and offered a somewhat sheepish smile, trying to help her smooth down her frizzy hair as he stated, "Sorry about that. I get excited sometimes."

Hermione laughed in response, soothing, "It's alright. I've certainly experienced worse things than an overenthusiastic Weasley twin."

"One would hope," Fred chuckled, winking at the girl and making her blush even harder. "Now," the redhead said, snatching the fleshy string from his sister's hands, "Someone tell me about the fruits of Hermione's fount..."

xxXxx

And so passed the first half of a long summer. Despite the dust and the cleaning and the fighting and mail-tampering and the house-arrest, I have to say that I enjoyed myself. It was wonderful getting to know my dad, getting to spend whole days with him and my friends and the people who had welcomed me into their family.

The only thing missing was Harry.

On his fifteenth birthday, I sent him a large amount of chocolate and a stack of quidditch books (in which I'd hidden several notes he claims to have never gotten). I went and saw him, but he didn't see me. That was the only deal I could work, after weeks of badgering my cousin to help with the plan.

Harry had pretty much stopped answering letters, and, I'd learned from eavesdropping on Order meetings with the twins' new Extendable Ears, all our letters to him were being searched by both the Order and the Ministry. _Intercepted_, I believe was the word used. I was, understandably, quite angry. Harry had watched Cedric die, and Dumbledore's answer was to trap him all alone with his psychotic relatives for the entire summer, without even the slightest word of what was going on in his own bloody world, making all the people who actually loved him complicit in such abuse. It seemed pointless and cruel.

"Remember," Tonks reminded me, again, for perhaps the fiftieth time, "He can't know we're here. And don't try to run off. I'll stun you and drag you home and never allow you talk me into anything half so foolish ever again."

Huffing as we laid flat on the downslope of the roof of the house across from number four, Privet Drive, I snottily inquired, "Do you ever get tired of doing what Dumbledore says? I know he's supposed to be this great wizard and all, but, really, he comes across more as a scheming, half-crazy old man. It's like he keeps giving more and more ridiculous orders just to see how far he can push people before they tell him to fuck off. But, you know what? I've told him to fuck off a bunch of times, and I'm not afraid to do it again if he keeps handing out all these asinine orders. Somebody has to."

Tonks shook her head at me, quite clearly exasperated as she commented, "I trust him. And you should, too."

"I don't," I argued, "At least not entirely. This is insane, alright? What could it possibly hurt to have Harry come to us on his birthday? He'll be by in a week and a half anyways! And don't even get me started on the mail thing! It should be a bloody felony to tamper like that! I shudder to think of the damage done to poor Mercury's psyche! He hasn't had much of an appetite all summer! If I have to send my owl to therapy, I'm sending the bill to that old coot!"

As usual with my rants, I could've gone on for much longer (well, indefinitely) but was interrupted by Harry's emerging from the front door of a rather ordinary little house. He stood on the porch for a moment, glancing absently up and down the street, up into the sky. I thought he must be looking for an incoming owl and felt my heart seize up. He seemed thin. Much thinner than normal, anyways, and quite a few inches taller. Very pale. Very forsaken.

Despite the promises I'd been making to Tonks all morning, I immediately tried to jump out of my hiding spot and rush across the street and give my godbrother a proper birthday greeting.

The metamorph at my side was ready to hold me in place, hissing, "I said you could see him and that's it! You're going to get us both in a lot of trouble!"

"Since when have I cared about trouble?" I countered short-temperedly, glaring, "It's practically a hobby. No one's going to know if I talk to him."

"He's gone anyways," Tonks announced smugly.

And, indeed, when I glanced back across the street, just moments after looking away, Harry was no longer anywhere in sight. "Where'd he go?" I demanded, frustrated and disappointed, worried, scanning everywhere and finding no familiar head of messy black hair.

I felt Tonks's shrug against my shoulder as the young woman declared, "I don't know. Anyways, you've seen him. He's fine. We're leaving."

"He's not _fine_!" I crowed, "He looks bloody awful, and he just vanished!"

"He probably went back into the house," she argued.

"We would've heard the door," I pointed out.

Tonks rolled her eyes and commented, "Then he walked round the back. Whatever. The point is that we're not even supposed to be here and we need to leave right now." She fixed me with a very somber stare, insisting, "He's well watched over. No matter what doubts you have, Dumbledore wants Harry alive just as much as the rest of us do, and the _old coot_ has put a lot of security in place. Now _let's go_."

I stared at the house for a few minutes longer, willing Harry to show himself so I could have one more look at him. Still nothing, just the wilting hydrangea bushes under the front window rustling in the breeze. "Fine," I sighed, resigned as I shifted on the cold roof tiles, "But can we make one more stop? I'm not meant to be out of the shrink's office for another hour at least, so we have the time."

Smiling graciously, seeming relieved, Tonks asked, "Where would you like to go?"

xxXxx

One of the several promises I'd made to Cedric after his death was that I'd look after Cho. Her unwillingness to speak to me in any medium made the task quite difficult, so I'd decided to take it into my own hands and pay her a visit on that auspicious July 31st. After finally having tracked down the address of the Chang residence, it just seemed like the logical next step.

She lived with her parents in a village in Gloucestershire, near the Welsh border. The area was quite rural by most standards, picturesque but isolated.

Tonks agreed to wait a bit down the lane while I approached the Chang's large manor home. The place reminded me of the sprawling Malfoy estate, lush and well-kept, equally impersonal though admittedly nowhere near as sinister.

I tapped the ornate brass knocker and was greeted by a very short, very prim older woman who spoke with a thick Chinese accent and was more than happy to show me upstairs to her daughter's bedroom.

Cho was just... sitting on the floor, staring at an unremarkable stretch of floral wallpaper. She wasn't really looking good, her normally flawless hair disheveled and obviously unwashed, her round face grey and greasy, clean only where the tears had tracked and dried. She didn't react at all when I came in, or when I sat down beside her, or when I made several different attempts at conversation.

So, instead, I stopped trying to make conversation and just started talking. I told the story, basically. Everything that happened the day Cedric died, everything I promised him. I wasn't sure Cho was listening until she started to cry silently, until the end when I had no more to say and she turned to me, slowly, and whimpered, "I think I'm pregnant."

xxxxxxxxxx

My mind has once again wandered into strange and unusual places. Just go with it. And review, pretty please :)


	25. Mating Habits of Ravenclaws

Part 25 - Mating Habits of Ravenclaws and Puffskeins

"The most important thing to remember is not to panic."

Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were ridiculous. The most important thing to remember at that moment would've been something far more practical or at least something vaguely useful, but, unfortunately, I had no such knowledge upon which to draw and had to settle for the hollow reassurance while my mind spluttered stupidly trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

Cho didn't seem the least bit comforted, staring across the space between us with dark, tear-filled eyes as she hoarsely informed me, "I'm well past the panicking stage, thanks."

I stared back at her for a few moments before roaring, "How the bloody hell can you be pregnant?!"

"SHHH!!" she replied, gaze darting anxiously to the closed door of her large bedroom, "My parents will disown me if they find out!"

"I think you've got bigger problems!" I replied. Realizing that I wasn't going to be of much use if I freaked out, too, I took a deep, calming breath and, calmly, inquired, "You're not sure, are you? I mean, you haven't taken a test yet? Gone to a healer?"

Cho shook her head, curtain of unwashed black hair rippling around her round face and slight shoulders. "I'm two months late," she murmured, expression just... _lost_, "And I've been throwing up in the morning. And, well, the date of the last time Cedric and I..." She trailed off pitifully, somehow conjuring a guilty blush even through all that sorrow and depression. "It lines up," she murmured.

"Still, maybe not," I supplied hopefully, getting to my feet, "Come on. I'll take you to get a home testing kit."

"My mother isn't going to let me go anywhere," she argued.

And that made me laugh. "You didn't see her face when she walked in here and found you staring at the wall," I countered, "I got the impression that it wasn't the first time, and I think she'll be thrilled that I've talked you into an alternate activity. Go get cleaned up, and I'll take care of it."

In a daze, Cho stood shakily and wandered into an attached bathroom. I heard the shower start up and went back to trying like hell to figure out what the fuck to do.

xxXxx

Four positive piss-sticks later, the situation was looking quite a bit more definitive, but I couldn't manage to talk Cho into going to a proper healer or even a muggle clinic to have the diagnosis confirmed once and for all. She had progressed past shock right back into panic and then, firmly, denial.

"GO AWAY!" she shouted at me, again, from inside a stall in the ladies' loo at the local muggle pharmacy.

"Cho," I sighed, "You know I can't do that. Just come out, and we'll talk about this."

"NO!" the Ravenclaw replied, "_GO AWAY!!_" From underneath the stall door, I could see her give a petulant stomp to punctuate the statement. I really hoped that I wasn't experiencing one of those legendary pregnant-lady mood swings.

Groaning, I glanced again at the clock on the wall, mentally counting down the time left before I'd have to meet back up with Tonks; it had been quite difficult to persuade her to let me have the day to "hang out" with Cho (under the guise of cheering the girl up), and if I was late getting back, then my cousin likely wouldn't allow herself to be talked into any such scheme ever again.

"Listen," I said, "Whether you are or you aren't, whatever you want to do about either scenario, I'm here all the way. But I'm not going to keep talking to you through the door of a public toilet. It demeans us both."

I was answered with silence and, taking that as a good sign, continued, "I have maybe two more hours today, and I think that the best use of that time would be to get you to a credible medical professional who can confirm or deny and lay out all the options. That's logical, yeah?"

(Logic tends to appeal to Ravenclaws no matter what the situation.)

Again, more silence. I was just about to try climbing over the top of the cubicle when the door slowly swung open and Cho stepped out. She'd been crying again, obviously, but seemed a bit more collected as she smudged the tears off her pale cheeks. She nodded and allowed me to guide her out.

xxXxx

I was, understandably, quiet and distant at dinner that night. Luckily, everyone seemed to take my distractedness as a sign that I'd had a rough therapy session and pretty much left me alone. Not even the twins said much past their usual cheeky goodnights when I begged off to bed early.

I couldn't sleep though. Not with the tadpole-like sonogram pictures burning a hole in my pocket. Not with the memory of Cho's tearful but resolute decision to have Cedric's baby still so fresh.

Well past midnight, the door to my room creaked open and a shadowed figure crept inside. I knew it wasn't Fred; he was being very sweet and gentlemanly in honoring the agreement I'd made with my dad. And so, on the short list of people who were likely to be creeping into my bedroom in the middle of the night, that just left...

"Daddy?"

He jumped and swore, tripping a bit and apparently stubbing his toe before crashing headfirst into my bed.

Luckily, I wasn't in it, instead huddled on the window seat and staring at the stars.

I laughed, asking, "Are you alright?"

Pouting, massaging his bruised foot, he fought his way into a more dignified position in my empty bed and answered, "Ya, love. I'm fine." He waved his hand and turned the light on, smiling sheepishly as he inquired, "What're you doing up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," I said, snickering, "Your excuse?"

Dad laughed, threading his fingers through his long hair and stating, "The same... it helps sometimes if I come check on you. I used to when you were little."

"I remember," I murmured, "You used to watch me sleep."

Smirking, blushing just a bit, Dad agreed, "Being a father was kind of strange for me. I'd never felt so much love before. Or so much fear. You were this... this _perfect_ little creature that your mum and I had made together. And I drove myself half crazy thinking that someday you might be hurt or sad or scared and I wouldn't be there to make it all better." He chuckled, "I never thought there would be anything bothering you that I couldn't fix. Silly, eh?"

"Not really," I said with a watery smile, "I was under the same impression at the time."

Dad came and sat beside me on the window seat, slinging his arm around my shoulders and holding me snug against his side. There didn't seem to be anything more to say.

xxXxx

During the following two days, I went to see Cho quite a few times. However, the only way I could get out to see her was to pretend to need to talk to my shrink and then persuade whoever was sent as an escort to let me visit her instead. Our little secret, I kept saying. I just happened to have the same little secret with Tonks, Bill, Mr. Weasley, and a certain Mr. Dedalus Diggle, a random but personable Order member I'd sweet-talked into my cause. Sometimes, I'm so persuasive it's scary.

Of course, my powers of persuasion didn't do any good with Cho herself. No matter how many times I managed to meet up with her, no matter how much I badgered and begged, she just wouldn't go see a healer. She refused to even make a return trip to the discreet muggle clinic where we'd gone for the sonogram.

"I don't want anyone to know," she kept insisting, sometimes curled in a ball in her bed, sometimes in a café in the village, when I managed to coax her out of the house. "My father works at St. Mungo's," she explained, "He's an administrator, and he has a lot of friends in magical and muggle hospitals and clinics all over the world. Someone will recognize me or see my name on a file, and they _will_ tell him. I'm not being paranoid when I say my parents will never speak to me again. They both told me as much in lieu of a sex talk."

She had it in her head that she would be able to hide the condition long enough to actually have the baby. Then, since she was due in late March, she would be of age and could get her own place over the summer, figure out the next step. If she would keep the baby or give it away.

I was completely opposed to this plan and all its assorted holes. Unfortunately, Cho was an absolute know-it-all and turned out to be quite stubborn as well.

It was after one such visit with the stubborn girl that I arrived back at number twelve a bit out of sorts. I stalked immediately into the library and began researching whether or not using a stunning spell on a pregnant woman was medically advisable.

But once I started researching, I found stopping difficult. The Grimmauld library did boast a rather impressive collection of old medical books. And, well, I always had had an interest in the subject, as one might've guessed from the fact that I used to read anatomy texts just for the fun of it.

But that's beside the point. What I discovered during the study session was that most of the charms and diagnostic spells recommended over the course of a normal pregnancy were ones I could probably learn to perform...

_Crack. _"Afternoon, Gorgeous."

"Godric's grapes!" I yelped, resolving to research what to do in the event of a heart attack next, "You scared the bloody daylights out of me, Fred! Just because you can apparate doesn't mean you have to do so directly behind me at all opportunities!"

My boyfriend beamed and leaped over the back of a dusty black velvet sofa, stretching his arms out theatrically and bringing them down in order to tug me tight against his side. "My sincerest apologies, fair lady," he chuckled, smacking a wet, noisy kiss onto my cheek, "I humbly prostrate myself at your feet and beg for forgiveness."

Merlin, it was like he didn't even have to try to make me laugh.

"That won't be necessary, kind sir," I giggled, tossing my book away with a hearty _thunk_. I straddled his lap and wrapped my arms around his thick freckled neck, smiling wickedly and adding, "I can think of a much funner way for you to earn such forgiveness."

Humming happily as I rolled my body sensually along the length of his, Fred responded, "I _love_ the way you think."

We kissed then, slow and languid. Every ounce of stress and tension seemed to melt out of me in seconds.

Fred must've felt the shudder as it left, pulling away a bit, breathless, and inquiring, "You alright, Stel?"

"Reasonably," I answered, smirking, nipping at his jaw, "Nothing a little time alone with you can't cure."

"You're sure?" he chuckled, obviously enjoying the attention but squirming a bit to keep his mouth free for talking, "You've been seeing the shrink a lot the last few days."

Mention of the shrink reminded me of what I'd actually been doing during the visits, and I groaned, thinking of Cho, letting my forehead fall to rest on Fred's brawny shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," the redhead added quickly, rubbing my back, "I was just a little worried. I mean, as long as you're talking to someone about what's bothering you, it doesn't have to be me. I only want you to be happy."

Of course he did. The sweet bastard.

The sound of a throat clearing startled me, again. And it also startled Fred, who, upon seeing that it was my dad standing in the doorway, tried to jump to his feet and only succeeded in dumping me out of his lap.

Given my luck, landing on my tailbone was inevitable, as was the excruciating _snap_.

xxXxx

Yes, I broke my coccyx, proving once again that the klutziness of the Black line was enough to turn even the most innocuous of situations into reason for emergency medical attention.

However, in between Dad's furious shouting and Fred's frantic apologies, I did manage to think of a way to turn the painful turn of events to my own advantage.

"I'd like to go the hospital now," I announced, interrupting the argument and all the assorted adults who were trying their best to break it up.

Remus frowned down at me, concerned. "You'll be fine in a moment," he soothed, taking out his wand, "Just hold still."

"NO!" I shrieked, startling every person in the room (which, that afternoon, just happened to be every single inhabitant of Grimmauld as well as a few stray Order members). "Absolutely not!" I insisted firmly, aware that I probably didn't look all that authoritative while sprawled on my stomach on the couch, "Thanks, Remus, but when it comes to my arse, I'd rather leave any required procedures up to experienced professionals."

"You're being ridiculous," Tonks pointed out, clearly trying not to giggle.

I glared at my cousin, hissing, "I'm sorry, are _you_ the one with the broken arse?"

That was when Bill lost his own battle with the beast known as hysterical laughter, and his mother promptly shuffled him out of the library, scolding the man about maturity and the need to set a better example. You'd think he would've been nicer to me, especially after I put in such a good word for him with Fleur, who was working and Gringotts and still preferred redheaded men.

Scowling after the cursebreaker, I struggled to stand (aided greatly by Dad and Fred, who had gone right back to bickering). I leaned heavily against Fred's shoulder, wincing, pouting at my godfather as I whined, "Please, Remus?"

The sandy-haired man was not moved, gently scolding, "That's not necessary. I promise to be careful." He then waved his wand in the general direction of my backside.

Even though I hadn't been entirely sure it would work, I managed to block the healing spell with a wandless, wordless shield charm of my own.

Dad let out a proud, impressed bark of laughter even while Uncle Remus bellowed, "Stella Black! You will not use underage magic in this house!"

"It's my house," I argued brattily, "Well, mine and Dad's. And it's not like the Ministry will be able to tell it was me." Turning to Fred, I urgently whispered, "Apparate. Front door. Now!"

With a _crack_, we were there. Despite being a bit dizzy and sick to my stomach, I shot my nervous boyfriend a wide smile and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm really fine," I told him, "Don't worry. I'll explain later."

Fred was obviously confused, but it was hardly the first time I'd asked him to blindly play along with some half-baked spur-of-the-moment plot. By the time everyone had come barreling as quietly as they possibly could into the entry hall, Fred had already committed.

"Stella has a bloody spinal injury!" he insisted fiercely, shielding me with his broad body, "If she wants to go to the hospital, then she gets to go to the hospital! Do I have to take her myself?"

Exasperated, wary of the possible scene that could very easily be made with my grandmother's horrid portrait, Remus caved. "Fine," he complained, "I'll take you to Mungo's, but there's no guarantee that the healers will even provide treatment for something like this. They generally tend to focus their efforts on magic-related problems."

"You know as well as I do that the Mundane Healing Department is in the basement and cares for exactly these sorts of non-magical injuries," I argued smartly, "I took myself there on the Knight Bus when I was nine-years-old and didn't want you to find out that I'd broken my arm jumping off the roof of our flat in Copenhagen."

"You did _what?!_" he and Dad gaped in tandem, earning a few shushes and pointed nods toward the evil portrait.

With a sheepish smirk, I chuckled, "Did I never tell you that story? Heh. Could've sworn I did..."

xxXxx

Accidental revelations on childhood recklessness aside, Remus did accompany me to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Mundane Healing Department. The basement ward is nowhere as exciting as the other floors but does get a fair amount of traffic, mostly from people who never mastered how to treat their own broken bones, commons colds, and other assorted non-magical infirmities. The other main condition seen in the department is pregnancy, which is handled by a team of healers who specialize in maternity and neo-natal care.

Being unable to sit while I waited to be seen gave me license to wander a bit, which was my goal from the beginning. It didn't take long to locate the maternity desk, which was managed by a painfully skinny older witch who didn't cooperate at all with my attempts at charming some information out of her or charming myself past that point.

But I refused to be discouraged, sneaking into a lounge and helping myself to a cup of coffee before joining a pair of young men in lime green healer robes. They turned out to be trainees and were far more susceptible to my flirting, quite happy and eager to answer any and all questions (especially after I allowed them to give my arse injury a cursory examination). Not having worked in the hospital for more than a few months combined, they weren't overly confident in their own abilities, but they did know quite a lot about the training process itself, which books were used and how to go about getting them, the qualifications one needed. Things like that.

The most useful piece of information came from the rather tall brunette called Augustus Pye, who hoped to be accepted to work in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites for his next rotation. Grinning roguishly and seemingly hypnotized by the small amount of cleavage my tight tank top revealed, he commented, "My supervisor recommended buying myself a puffskein. Their organ systems are very similar to human ones, so they're good to practice most healing spells and to test potions on. The maternity ward actually won't let their students touch any real patients until they've demonstrated competence with the puffskeins."

"Really?" I inquired curiously, "That's fascinating. It doesn't hurt them?"

Augustus shrugged, leaning in a bit closer and reporting, "Not usually, but I think the idea is that screwing up and killing a puffskein is a lot less devastating than screwing up and killing a pregnant witch or her child. It's not the most humane situation, but trial and error is sometimes a part of medicine. Lessening the impact of the errors is key."

Nodding, I commented, "Interesting. Does the maternity ward actually get a lot of patients, or do people tend to just look after themselves? I mean, it seems like it's one of the most common reasons for a visit to the Mundane Department, so does that mean that the spells are very difficult?"

The other trainee, a baby-faced blonde of average height named Mason Dunstan, answered, "The diagnostic ones aren't too bad, but most witches do like to have them performed by professionals. And most also prefer to come here to give birth, just in case of complications. Our midwives are the best."

"I just find it all so fascinating," I gushed, grinning and batting my eyelashes, laughing internally, "All of you here really do make such a big difference, helping people the way you do. I hope I qualify for the program next year."

"I'm sure you won't have any problems," Augustus helpfully supplied, turning up his own charm a few shameless notches, "I'd be happy to tutor you, if you like. And by then I'll probably be a full healer, and I can even put in a good word."

With a theatrical squeal, I beamed, "You're so nice! Thank you!"

Not to be outdone, Mason interrupted, "I can give you a tour, if you have the time. I'm actually almost done with my rotation in the Mundane Department, so I know my way around fairly well."

"That would be lovely!" I replied, taking his skinny arm when he held it out gallantly, pretending not to notice when he stuck his tongue out at Augustus behind my back.

The only wards I really needed to see were Maternity and Neo-Natal, but Mason's tour encompassed the whole of the Mundane Department. And I have to say that I did genuinely find everything to be very fascinating.

When we got to the area I was actually interested in, I listened carefully to Mason's explanations about how the pregnant patients were screened and cared for, what potions were recommended for before, during, and after the births. I saw the nursery where, I realized, I had resided briefly as a newborn. That was a bit eerie, knowing that I had been born in that very ward, but I kept my head in the game nonetheless, asking endless questions and continually broadening my knowledge base.

By the time my name was called over the intercom, I felt a quite a bit more confident in my ability to actually pull off the scheme I had in mind.

Augustus and Mason escorted me back to the waiting room. Uncle Remus was peeved at me for disappearing, especially because it had been my turn to be seen for the last twenty minutes. But whatever. I said goodbye to my companions and went in and had my tailbone healed and was able to walk out in seemingly no time at all. I made sure to contribute a few extra galleons when I paid the bill; call it a donation in appreciation of Trainee Healers Pye and Dunstan's time and expertise. They really had been quite helpful and sweet.

Remus was still a bit short with me, suspicious and annoyed because he couldn't quite figure out what my angle was.

"I have been healing your scrapes and bruises since you were a toddler," he scolded, though it came across more as a pout, "And I've also been dealing with your crazy plans. I don't know what you're up to, but I would prefer that it not go any further. Now is really not the time to be messing about."

I grinned and turned my face toward the setting sun as we stepped back onto the hot, muggy streets of London. "Can we stop by Diagon Alley?" I requested brightly, "We're already nearby, and I'd like to pick up a few new books and things."

My old godfather regarded me skeptically, challenging, "Not unless you tell me what's going on."

"I think I might like to be a healer," I reported, not entirely untruthfully, "So I thought I'd go check it out for myself. I'm sorry for making you waste the whole afternoon."

Seeming flabbergasted but hesitantly pleased, Remus floundered for a few moments before clearing his throat and declaring, "Not- Not at all, love. I'm happy you've found something you're interested in."

"You mean you're happy that I'm interested in something that's not modeling or inventing joke supplies," I teased, giggling when he blushed guiltily.

"I would've taken you to look around if you'd just said something," Remus declared, putting an arm around my shoulders and steering me toward a secluded alley.

"Not likely," I argued pointedly, "I'm never allowed out of the house unless it's to see the shrink. Safety concerns and all. So can we really go to Diagon? I have a good idea of what I want, so it shouldn't take very long."

Still looking a bit guilty, looking old and forlorn, Remus forced a small smile and decided, "You know what, you can have as much time as you like. I'm sorry you've been so cooped up lately. You and your father. Neither of you seem to take well to captivity, but we wouldn't be doing it-"

"If you didn't think it was necessary," I finished, bouncing up to peck him on the cheek, "I know, Uncle Remus. I understand. I have no desire to be assassinated by dark wizards. And besides, I love being with Dad. We've had a lot to catch up on."

He chuckled darkly and pulled me in close, apparating us away with a _crack_.

xxXxx

That day was a Monday. The second day of August. On my late-evening spin around Diagon, I cleaned out the selection of medical books in Flourish & Blotts and then headed over to the Magical Menagerie to pick myself a puffskein. A bit of sly chatting with the bespectacled witch in charge led me to adopt a young female named Marigold who had quite recently fallen in a family way when a new employee accidentally sorted her into a cage with the males. It was really rather lucky that I was able to find the little custard-colored ball of fluff in such a state; I didn't exactly know how one went about getting one's puffskein laid, although, apparently, it wasn't too difficult--Marigold had only been in the wrong cage for about twenty minutes, the naughty girl.

I added some pet accessories to my order, a cozy little bed, a collection of food and treats, and a thin book entitled _Puffskeins and You_. I didn't want Michelangelo or Mercury getting jealous of their new sister, so I also bought a self-heating lava rock for my turtle and a rather lifelike toy mouse for my owl.

Even though Marigold's long tongue and constant, happy purring were adorably distracting, I continued to the Apothecary and got a few ingredients that the twins and I had been running low on (and a few special orders to help with the welcoming feast prank we were midway through planning, mwahaha). Just for fun, I also stopped in at Gambol & Japes and purchased a pack of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Grimmauld could use the excitement (or at least excitement that didn't involve damage to my arse).

I came to regret this assessment upon arriving back there to find the whole house in an absolute uproar. "What's going on?" I demanded, grabbing Ginny as she ran through the crowded kitchen.

"It's Harry," she stated urgently, "He was attacked by dementors!"

"_WHAT?!_" I shrieked, causing quite a few people to jump and reach for wands before realizing that the shrill, startling noise was just me and my breakdown.

Suddenly wary, Ginny pushed her frazzled red hair away from her pale face and confirmed, "He and his cousin were attacked. They're both fine but-"

"DUMBLEDORE!!" I screamed, absolutely seething as I searched the suddenly silent room for signs of that ruddy wizard, "YOU GET YOUR WRINKLED ARSE OUT HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND, OLD MAN!!"

"Stel," Dad soothed, approaching cautiously and seeming kind of frightened by my thus-far unprecedented bout of anger, "He's not here. He's off at the Ministry trying to sort out what happened."

"I know exactly what happened!" I snarled, "That stupid, _senile_ bastard swore that Harry would be alright, and he almost just got his bloody soul sucked out!!"

Floundering helplessly, Dad stammered, "Love, just- just relax, ok? You're not doing anyone any good getting all worked up." He sent pleading glances toward Remus and Mrs. Weasley and, apparently in a fit of desperation, even at the twins.

Despite my blinding fury, I tried to calm down. I really did. I allowed myself to be shepherded into a quieter sitting room, allowed Dad and Fred and George and Remus to take turns attempting to talk me out of my rage and dread. Nothing was working though, and I ended up screaming again with ten minutes, pacing and smashing every priceless Black heirloom and gaudy trinket I could get my hands on. I carried on until Tonks came in with a freshly brewed Calming Draught and Remus coaxed me into drinking it.

Even after a wave of ease and contentment washed over me, I still couldn't completely relax, couldn't sit still. But Dad and Remus and Tonks seemed reasonably satisfied that I was at least in a better frame of mind and, reluctantly, returned to whatever Order business they'd been attending to before my auspicious arrival.

Alone with Fred and George, I ranted and paced a bit more but only until they wrestled me onto a couch and held me down from either side.

"Come on, Stel," Fred scolded, kneading my tense shoulders, "Harry's fine." He punctuated the statement with a cheeky grin before adding, "And anyways, you promised you'd explain what that scene earlier was about."

"I can't believe you broke your arse," George chuckled, "Or that you somehow managed to turn it into an extra field trip for yourself. I'd be jealous if I weren't so intrigued. You did come back with an awful lot of packages. Not to mention that new pet."

Smiling hesitantly, squirming restlessly, I answered, "Her name is Marigold, and if I catch you two using her for bludger practice, I'll turn you both into toads."

"Great big horny toads?" George asked, waggling his ginger eyebrows.

I glanced back and forth between the absolutely serious expressions on the twins' identical faces and couldn't help laughing. "No other kind would seem appropriate," I agreed, actually starting to feel a bit better.

Both young men chuckled and then stared expectantly. I knew the curiosity had to be killing them.

Even though I'd get scolded if I was caught at it again, I magicked the door shut and soundproofed the room, taking a deep breath and declaring, "Cho's pregnant. It's Cedric's, and she's keeping it."

They both gaped at me, clearly boggled.

"She can't know I told you," I continued, "She's really freaked out about people knowing. She won't even go see a healer. That's why I had to go to the hospital. I had to see if there was any way that I could take care of her myself, and I think I can. I mean, that's what Cedric told me to do. He told me to take care of her, and I think this might be what he meant. I had a dream, and... I talked to these two trainees at the hospital. They were really nice but not the smartest blokes, so if they can be healers, then so can I. I bought all the books, and Marigold, she's to practice on. And I think I can slip into the next rotation of interns in the Maternity ward if I'm sneaky about it."

The twins continued to gape.

"Well?" I asked, nervous but hopeful, "What do you think?"

"As usual," George finally drawled, "I think you're bloody mad." He smirked brightly and added, "But if anyone's smart enough to pull off such a thing, it's you."

"With our help, of course," Fred contributed, puffing his chest out proudly.

I grinned, chuckling, "Great. Now that that's settled, I can get back to fretting about Harry."

Both twins groaned. "So much for distracting the girl," George commented, reaching around me to give his brother a smack to the head, "And don't you dare take that as an invitation to do something dirty to her while I'm in the room! It was bad enough with Sirius spending hours spouting off the play-by-play of how you broke his daughter's arse."

"Merlin," I complained, mortified at the wording alone, "He didn't."

"Sure did," Fred grumbled. He pouted at me sadly, murmuring, "Even though you managed to use it to your advantage, I'm really sorry about what happened."

Snuggling up against his shoulder, finding it hard to feel anything but ok with the Calming Draught coursing through me, I sighed, "It was an accident, love. There's nothing to be sorry for." Snickering, I added, "Besides, it's kind of a funny story."

"I once again feel the need to toast Stella's sense of humor," George mused aloud, sending a nostalgic, only slightly bitter smile my way as we shared the same memory of Cedric, "Who wants butterbeer?"

xxXxx

When I found out that Harry had been expelled and the reason why, I laughed, certain that someone was playing a very stupid joke. Surely underage magic was permissible in life or death situations. Common sense would dictate that an unprovoked dementor attack in the middle of a muggle street warranted a witch or wizard of any age the option of defending his or herself.

But back then the Ministry wasn't blessed with an abundance of common sense (or any at all, it often seemed), nor did they apparently see anything wrong with abusing their bureaucracy in the pursuit of their own silly little agendas, such as silencing Harry. They'd vindictively tried to do the same thing to me numerous times, so I can't say that I was too surprised. But still. I really would've loved to give Fudge a piece of my mind...

During the four days between when Harry was attacked and when he was rescued from his hateful relatives, I had no desire to do anything but hang around the house and complain at great length to any Order member I could corner for long enough. After I shouted Mundungus Fletcher out so thoroughly that he ended up cowering beneath a table, Dad and the twins did their best to keep me busy and distracted. We even got around to seriously tackling the Animagus lessons. George sprouted some inky black feathers on his neck toward the middle of the second day and spent the rest of the afternoon boasting quite insufferably.

Other than that, there was nothing to do but worry and answer Cho's letters. She wrote a lot, several times every day, in varying states of freak-out, mostly using paranoid code words to describe her condition. I tried to see her, but security was pretty tight; my usual ruse with the shrink wasn't working because everyone was too on edge and on guard to allow themselves to be talked into any side trips (Dr. Fairchild seemed extremely confused when I showed up at his office three times in the same day just to say hello).

The day finally came when Harry would arrive. Would be fetched, really. I wanted to be on the retrieval team but was, of course, denied. Dad was as well, so we were both rather upset. In protest, he and I staged a boycott of the house cleaning and were quickly joined by everyone who wasn't Mrs. Weasley. I felt awful about how flustered she got, so the boycott barely lasted an hour before I caved and apologized; the situation wasn't her fault, after all.

Mrs. Weasley took pity, realizing that we were all rather stressed, and she let us have the day off from cleaning anyways. I helped her with lunch and painted my toenails (and Fred's while he was napping), and then my father and twin cohorts and I spent the rest of the day once again working on our secret Animagus lessons. I was determined to catch up to George's progress, if only to get him to shut his big fat mouth.

So, while George progressed from sprouting sparse patches of feathers to actually shrinking his arms a bit, I determinedly concentrated and, with a dizzying tingling sensation, managed to force most of my body to grow a few inches of soft gold fur. The effort wiped me out for the day.

And then Fred, the bastard, had to go and show us both up. As I was sprawled on my bed, trying to catch my breath, he suddenly morphed into some sort of half-man, half-beast thing; he grew sleek red fur all over and a long bushy tail out of his backside, his whole body haltingly shrinking to maybe a third of its normal size as his face stretched out into a pointed muzzle with some white along its sides and down his throat and chest and stomach.

I was jealous but excited, giving a short whoop of triumph even though Dad shot us both a rather sulky glare.

But Fred apparently hadn't meant to do so much at once; the book warned that that could be an issue, cautioning that learning the transformation should be done in small intervals so individuals did not become overwhelmed or exhausted while their bodies were getting used to the change and to the large amount of magic involved.

So I guess it shouldn't have really been a surprise when Fred's rapid morph was rapidly followed by his passing out cold.

His brother and I rushed to his sides; I cradled his head in my lap, and George lightly slapped Fred's once more freckled cheeks in an attempt to rouse him.

Fred came around in only a few moments, restored to his natural state aside from a few spare white bristles on his chin. He grinned up at us, still kind of dazed but asking brightly, "Did I do it?"

"Not entirely," I laughed, unbelievably relieved, ignoring Dad's growl as I bent to press a kiss to Fred's forehead.

"Not unless your Animagus form really is a hideous man-beast," George contributed with a teasing smirk, "But if it is, then congratulations, mate!"

"Ha bloody ha," Fred complained, groaning as he struggled to sit up. He peered around my room, seeming to be getting his bearings.

"Don't you ever listen?" Dad scolded, all frowny and adulty as he glared like my boyfriend was something scraped from the bottom of a dragon tamer's work boot, "Not that I'd be too broken up if you went and permanently disfigured yourself, but I'm not explaining it to your mum."

Sighing heavily, I ordered, "Daddy, be nice. It was an accident."

Dad huffed, sulking, "Accident my arse. Foolish, reckless monkeying about is more like it. He's obviously not taking this seriously, Stel. Not like you are. He just wants to show off."

"Who says I'm not doing it to show off?" I argued pointedly, silencing Fred's own rebuttal with just one pointed look, "I am my father's daughter, after all."

Dad's mouth flapped open and closed a few times as the thin man tried to think of some response that didn't paint him into even more of a corner. Finally, he settled for blustering, "That's it for today. I need to check about the Order meeting, and Harry should be arriving soon."

"Ok," I agreed with yet another sigh. I started to get up to give Dad a hug and kiss goodbye, to soothe his bluster a bit, but he stormed out before I had a chance. I tried not to feel hurt by the gesture.

xxXxx

The twins and I screwed around for another half hour or so, until we thought we heard Harry's voice echoing about somewhere. Marigold, who had been exploring in my closet, chose that moment to get what I assumed was her head stuck inside one of my motorcycle boots and started squeaking frantically. I staged a rescue, of course, retrieving the fluff ball and cuddling and comforting her. Only when she was finally purring happily and snuggling down into her little bed did my best friends and I set off to see about my godbrother.

The twins and I wandered to the most likely place that Harry would be: Ron's room, which from that point on would be Harry and Ron's room. I was smiling at the thought as I raised my hand to knock on the door...

And then I heard Harry's screaming, his furious ranting about we'd all abandoned him, how he'd already proven himself time and again and was entitled to know what the hell was going on.

He was mad. I knew he'd be mad, but I was still unprepared for the way his anger made my heart hurt and my stomach twist into a sour knot. The way it brought back every miserable memory of every awful time he'd been downright sadistic to me.

I turned and tried to run only to be stopped by both twins.

"He doesn't mean it, love," Fred soothed, holding me tighter when a helpless sob bubbled past my lips.

"He does," I croaked, "And he's right. What we did to him was awful. I just... I can't go in and have him yell at me."

With a loud scoff, George declared, "The runt wouldn't dare."

"Listen to that!" I hissed, still able to hear the tirade through the door, "He's shrieking at his best friends!" With a sniffle, I pleaded, "Could you two go in and just calm him down? Please? I... I can't-"

"Of course," Fred immediately agreed.

I squeezed my boyfriend tight, murmuring, "Tell him I'm sorry."

xxXxx

Anxious, I slipped into the backyard to wait out Harry's hissy fit. It was dark already, and I probably should've stayed indoors. But the night was warm and calm and quiet, and I found the stone bench near the dried-up pond without incident. Sitting stiffly and hugging my knees, I tried to keep distracted by testing myself on how much I could remember from the medical books I'd been reading.

But that didn't last long. Barely ten minutes in, I became aware of soft footsteps crunching along toward my secluded little copse, the quick flare of a lighter briefly illuminating my dad's face just as he stepped out of sight of the house.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, held it deep, and released the plume of smoke with a ragged sigh. He was standing just far away not to notice me until I plucked the cigarette out of his long fingers and helped myself to a few puffs.

Dad didn't waste any time snatching the cigarette back, blushing a bit and scowling as he held it out of my reach. "Hell no!" he ordered sternly.

With a smirk, I let the smoke bleed from my nostrils and argued, "If I can't, then you can't."

His scowl deepened, and he gave a short nod, grinding the cherry under his boot. He seemed a little embarrassed at being caught, but I was glad. Smoking really was a nasty habit, and I'd quit over a year ago; getting Dad to do so as well made me smile, made me think of all the extra years we'd be able to spend together now that tar and nicotine weren't stealing them away.

If I could've seen into the future, I would've known not to get my hopes up.

Dad sat down beside me, curled an arm around my shoulders and tucked me tight against his side. He pressed a kiss to my temple and murmured, "What're you doing out here, love?"

"Hiding from Harry," I grumbled, snuggling under Dad's chin, "He's in a mood."

Snorting, he commented, "I heard about that. Guess he ended up with your Aunt Lily's temper. James barely ever even raised his voice if he didn't have to."

I laughed, "Lucky us."

We shared a short snigger and then lapsed back into comfortable silence. Well, comfortable until Dad had to get all guilty and declare, "I'm sorry if I was short with you earlier. That boyfriend of yours just gets on my nerves."

"Mhmm," I hummed, too cozy to argue.

Dad didn't seem to get that message, complaining, "That stunt he pulled today was completely irresponsible. Having to go to Mungo's with an Animagus injury will get him and his family in a lot of trouble."

"He's very sorry and won't do it again," I said with an impatient yawn, "Has the Order meeting started yet?"

"Soon," he answered, "I spotted Snivellus and decided I didn't want to deal with him yet."

Together, we commented, "Git."

Then there were more giggles as my dad crushed me tight against his chest. "You really are a gem," he pronounced quite proudly.

xxXxx

At breakfast the next morning, Dad made a point of sitting next to me, of glaring across the table at the twins and whispering, "Which one is Fred?"

Resigned to yet more parental pouting, I grumbled, "Left."

They locked eyes and ignored their meals in favor of a heated staring contest.

Getting exponentially more annoyed, I was seconds away from absolutely losing it on both of them when Harry arrived and chose the seat on my other side. "Morning, Stel," he chirped, already grabbing for some food of his own.

I found myself flinging my arms around his skinny form and squeezing roughly, answering, "Morning, little bother! I'm so glad you're finally here!" Pulling back and grinning into his startled face, I continued, "Don't worry about being expelled. Fudge is a fucking pushover. You need a lawyer? I have a _great_ lawyer. Mr. B. He's gotten me off the hook a couple times already. You want his card?"

"Um," Harry gaped, "Thanks, but I think I'm ok..."

Apparently deciding to save the poor lad from my attentions, Mrs. Weasley blandly scolded, "Watch your language, Stella dear."

"_Désolé_," I said with a teasing smile, winking at Bill as the man blushed into his eggs.

xxXxx

A week came and went, as did Harry's hearing. No surprise that the charges didn't stick, but I still spent that whole morning so nervous that I couldn't sit still even for a second.

Things died down a bit after that, my days filling up and passing quickly with cleaning the house, participating in Animagus practice, visiting Cho, studying my healing books, and spending quality time with all my favorite relatives and friends and significant others.

Book lists and OWL results got mailed out ridiculously late that year, already toward the end of August and with only a few days to spare before school started. I wasn't home when the letters arrived, having slipped out to counsel Cho through yet another small breakdown. When I returned, both twins and Harry were noticeably perturbed, everyone else varying degrees of pleased, proud, and smug.

"I'm sure I'll regret asking," I declared as I waltzed into dinner, "But what's going on?"

"Oh, good!" Uncle Remus declared, almost knocking his chair over as he rushed to stuff the envelopes into my hands, "Open your scores, love! I'm dying to know what you got!"

Similarly eager, I tore into the OWL letter and scanned the parchment inside as fast as I could. Unable to contain my delighted grin or the little hop and squeal that slipped out, I waved the letter overhead and declared, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present twelve Os!"

"I knew it," George proclaimed, jumping to his feet and grabbing me into a tight hug, "Way to go, Stel!"

"Hands off," Dad growled, yanking him away by the collar.

All I could do was sigh, sharing an exasperated eye roll with Fred; as set as my dad was to hate my boyfriend, he still hadn't gotten the hang of telling the young man apart from his brother (or some days even keeping the twins straight after he'd been specifically told which was which). The confusion was occasionally amusing, but mostly just irritating.

Anyways, not even the overprotective pouting was going to ruin my good mood as the letter was handed around and I received more hugs and congratulations. Bill was in attendance (having pried himself away from Fleur and her "language lessons"), so I got to gloat to him a bit about tying his score. Dad and Uncle Remus and Mrs. Weasley and even Hermione kept gushing about how well I'd done.

With all the excitement, I forgot all about the other letter. I figured it wasn't really important, figured it was just the book list. I didn't actually get around to even opening the envelope until a few hours later, when dinner was over and the twins and I were sitting around chatting in their bedroom.

They were kind of bummed that Ron had been made a prefect, not to mention their mum's reaction to the news. As much as they harassed their brother, they really did love him. Having him made a prefect kind of put the boy on the anti-fun side of things, on the Percy side of things. They didn't want Ron to end up as uptight and ultimately misguided. But I was pretty sure that wouldn't happen; Percy had been born with the stick up his arse.

Nearly asleep with my head resting on Fred's chest, I didn't even feel his nimble fingers snatch the envelope out of my pocket.

"Stel," he rumbled, "You didn't open the other one."

I cracked one eye to see what he was talking about and then shut it again, yawning, "Go ahead."

He chuckled, and I could hear him tearing into it.

The last thing I expected was for a Head Girl badge to fall onto his stomach.

xxXxx

"Have you finally lost your freaking mind, old man?!" I shrieked, confronting Dumbledore in his office early the following morning.

Remus had, reluctantly, been talked into taking me and sighed heavily into his tea, seated and determined to stay out of the impending "discussion."

Ignoring him, I spiked the badge down onto the headmaster's desk and bellowed, "I am one of the _least_ behaved students to ever pass through these halls! For Merlin's sake, I once brought a bottle of vodka to breakfast! What the hell were you thinking?!"

Peering over the top of his half-moon glasses with a small measure of amusement, Dumbledore tented his fingertips in front of his lips and quietly replied, "You wish me to explain the selection process?"

"That would be nice!" I snapped, falling into the other chair with an eye roll when the headmaster gestured toward it.

Still doing that twinkling not-quite-smile bit, he very calmly murmured, "It is first necessary for you to understand the duties that the Heads have here at Hogwarts. Do you know what they do?"

"Kill fun and defile its cute, fluffy corpse?" I guessed nastily.

Dumbledore chuckled and replied, "No, though I can see why you might've gotten that impression, given your fondness for mayhem."

I glared impatiently.

"Generally," the old man declared, "Enforcing rules is supposed to be up to prefects. The Head Boy and Girl oversee the prefects, but they act more as student representatives and advocates than anything else. What we look for in candidates is academic prowess, highly developed social skills, the ability to lead, and most significantly, a willingness to stand up for their classmates, whether it be defending them from each other or from, perhaps, an overzealous staff member."

With a bitter laugh, I summarized, "So you picked me because I have a big mouth? Charming, really, but I think I'll still pass."

"You were highly recommended by professors and fellow students," Dumbledore said, pulling a stack of letters out of one of his desk drawers, "All of them very impressed by your kindness and courage, not to mention your determination."

Unexpectedly and uncomfortably flattered, I rifled through the parchments and saw glowing notes of praise from McGonogall, Sprout, Hagrid, and even Cedric.

"Cedric thought I should be Head Girl?" I whispered in awe. What the hell had my friend been thinking? The tears blurring my vision prevented me from reading for myself.

"Ah, yes," muttered the headmaster, an unmistakable note of sadness in his weathered voice, "Mr. Diggory was an early choice for Head Boy, but we were having a great deal of trouble filling the other position. I called him into my office and asked who he thought would be most qualified. He sent me that letter a few days before his death, presumably after you told him that you would be returning as a seventh year."

Unable to even touch them any longer, I set the letters down.

Dumbledore picked them up again and put them away, returning to his previous focused and pensive stare. "A lot of people have a lot of faith in your _big mouth_, as you say," he murmured, "And I also believe the fact that you were bullied so horribly by so many of your classmates makes you the _only_ person who can be trusted to prevent such a thing from happening to anyone else."

That _did_ sound like something I'd be pretty good at. And Dumbledore did have a point about no one else being up to the task (obviously).

"I'll level with you, Miss Black," said the old man, "This year's Defense teacher is Ministry appointed, and I don't trust her at all, especially not around children. She is manipulative and cruel, and having student advocates who can stand up to her is very important to me." He held out the badge.

How could I do anything but take it back? "Fine," I grumbled, smudging at my moist eyes as I tucked the gold piece of metal into my pocket, "But who's the Head Boy?"

With a slightly guilty wince, Dumbledore reported, "That would be Mr. Pucey."

"Adrian Pucey?" I gaped, horrified, "Do you know how many times I've had to kick that horrid pervert in the bollocks?!" Only two thus far, but I was sure that sharing a suite with the lad would surely result in many more.

"I admit I have my reservations," the headmaster admitted, "However, like you, Mr. Pucey is an excellent student and unafraid of speaking his mind. If you're concerned about his behavior, then I would be happy to speak with him."

After giving the offer a few moments of thought, I flashed a wicked grin. "No, thank you," I said, "I'm more than capable of making Mr. Pucey behave."

xxXxx

Sitting outside with the twins later, enjoying the solitude as the sun set, I was unsure of exactly what to say to them. I'd assured both boys that there was no way I would keep the position and felt like I had betrayed them by taking it, like I had switched teams.

"It won't be so bad," George said with a shrug, standing at the edge of the small pond and chucking pebbles out into the brush, "Kind of a free pass, really."

Nodding, tightening his grip around my shoulders, Fred agreed, "We'll have someone on the inside. Like a double agent."

I sighed, not really feeling any better about the situation. "It's going to be weird," I murmured, "I'm going to have to share a suite with _Pucey_."

"But you'll also get to do all that other stuff Dumbledore said," my boyfriend soothed, growling a little over the Pucey thing, "Looking after everyone and mouthing off."

With a laugh, George sang, "_These are a few of her favorite things_."

I stared at him, completely forgetting my melancholy in favor of bewilderment. "When did you watch _the Sound of Music_?" I gaped.

Even though he was standing with his back to me, I could see his ears turn red. "Last summer," he admitted, "There was this muggle girl in the village-"

The rest of the explanation became unintelligible as his brother and I cackled mercilessly.

"Wankers," he grumbled, lobbing a pebble in the general direction of the crumbling stone bench upon which we sat. Then he grinned. "Watch this," he said.

And then George was gone, a large sleek raven standing in his place.

"No bloody way!" Fred cried, jumping to his feet and circling the preening bird, sulking but ultimately holding out a finger for it to perch on. He stared into his brother's beady, black-almost-blue eyes, petted his glossy, black-almost-crimson feathers and declared, "You suck."

By being the first to successfully manage the Animagus transformation, George had won a galleon off both Fred and me.

George cawed and fluffed up his neck feathers, pecked Fred's hand and then tried to soar away in a very poignant, dignified manner.

And fell flat on his beak.

xxxxxxxxxx

So Cho is pregnant, Stella is Head Girl, and George is a raven (who hasn't yet mastered how to fly). Awesomeness all around, with much more to come.

I am a review junkie in need of a fix ;)

P.S. I figured out how to work the poll feature not too long ago, so there's on on my homepage that might interest some people.


	26. Bad Blood

Part 26 - Bad Blood

September 1st was hectic. Trying to get that many people fed and packed and ready to leave all at the same time took a great deal of patience, especially with Fred and George insisting on flinging the trunks around with magic, with Dad clinging to me like I was going to war instead of just school.

Grimmauld Place was within a mile of King's Cross, so we ended up walking, under guard of course, and were nearly late. There was barely time to say our goodbyes to the entourage before we had to go sprinting after the Hogwarts Express.

And then there was that extremely awkward moment when I _usually _would've wandered off with Fred and George to make some trouble but instead had to go to the freaking prefects' compartment and lead the whole freaking meeting.

I pouted at the twins, smacking them both lightly when they laughed at my expression. "Bastards," I complained, allowing myself to be pulled into hugs, "Is it too late for me to back out of this nonsense?"

"Yup," Fred chirped.

With a sinister waggle of his ginger eyebrows, George added, "We've already got some big plans about how to abuse your office for our own dastardly designs."

"At least there's that silver lining," I sighed. I hugged them both again, promising, "I'll come find you as soon as the meeting is through. Don't have too much fun without me."

"Not even possible," said Fred, kissing me soundly.

"Maybe I'll just get started on that book of yours," said George.

I snickered. As soon as George revealed his Animagus form as a raven, I knew that he had to read "the Raven." Both twins were surprisingly literate, and I thought he would really get a kick out of it. (I had already resigned myself to hearing "nevermore" from him in great excess for the next month or so.)

Fred leaned in and murmured, "We'll keep an eye out for Cho."

Hermione tugged on my arm, her curls bouncing as the rest of her practically vibrated with excitement.

Rolling my eyes so that she couldn't see, I chimed, "Alright, alright. One minute, Hermione. It's not like they can start without me."

"Go on, Stel," Fred chuckled, giving me one more reassuring squeeze, "Seize your throne and rule with an iron fist!"

"And take this," whispered George, winking as he pressed a small homemade firework into my palm, "In case you need a distraction."

With that, they romped off, presumably to harass the poor trolley lady, which was something of a tradition for them.

Ron and I shared miserable glances as we followed in Hermione's overeager wake toward the front of the train. "So," the boy finally murmured, "What prank are you and the twins playing at the welcoming feast?"

Grinning wickedly, I replied, "I don't know what you mean."

"Come on," he complained, gangly and almost as tall as I was, "You three have been whispering and giggling over something ever since we first got to Grimmauld. And it's your last year. I know you're planning something."

"Silly tricks would be quite unsuitable for a person of my office," I laughed. I ruffled his hair and soothed, "Don't you worry your pretty little head."

Ron rolled his eyes and declared, "It's not like I'm going to try to stop you or turn you in. I just want to know when to duck."

Truthfully, I declared, "Rest assured, I have no knowledge of any required ducking."

We arrived in the prefects' compartment, the last to do so. A slight hush fell over the crowd. Eyes fell to my chest and, unlike usual, I got quite a few frowns.

"Oh," I said, quickly figuring out the problem, fishing my badge out of my jean pocket and pinning it to the front of my stylish blue blouse. "Hello," I chirped, waving coyly, "My name is Stella Black, and I'm the Head Girl."

Blank looks all around.

Finally, Adrian Pucey (the Head Boy) stood, black hair slicked back from his harsh angular features. "Seriously?" he shrieked, probably in the midst of a small breakdown.

"Yes," I beamed, pointing to the shiny new badge. He may have been a prick, but I was determined to be nothing but sweet and cheerful to everyone... unless provoked, of course.

Irate, he tugged anxiously at his trousers (probably remember being kicked in the goodies (twice) by yours truly) and snarled, "Who'd you sleep with to pull that off?"

With nothing but a spiteful thought, I picked him up and slammed his head against the ceiling. It was definitely a new and unexpected trick for me, but it had the desired effect: Pucey fell to the floor unconscious, and everyone else stared at me in horror.

I grinned, still going for bright and jolly but, in the wake of that little display, probably only pulling off deranged. Well, whatever worked.

"Alright," I declared, clapping my hands together sharply and making everyone jump, "Any other questions before we begin?"

No one moved. I'd be surprised if anyone even breathed.

But my smile only got wider. "Excellent," I declared, "Then let's get right down to business..."

xxXxx

That prefect meeting was probably the shortest in the history of all prefect meetings. I thoroughly terrified two dozen of Hogwarts's best and brightest. Even Pucey, after he finally woke, didn't utter a single word.

I left in a rather good mood, humming and smiling, introducing myself to any first years I came across (they always were fairly easy to identify). As scared as the older kids were, the younger ones proved equally enamored with me. The little girls and little boys alike latched on like ducklings, and by the time I found the twins, I still had a handful trailing along dutifully.

"Going to introduce us to your friends, love?" Fred laughed when I entered the compartment and plopped down into his lap.

After a quick kiss, I beckoned the kiddies inside and declared, "This is Larkin Shaw-" a wide-eyed, weedy brunette boy in a Ramones t-shirt, "Bryony Dunstan-" the sweetest little blonde pixie with cheeks like a chipmunk's, "Tabitha Lively-" a tall, slim, black-haired girl, "Delmar Gray-" a shy, freckly child who I'd already rightfully pegged as a Hufflepuff, "and Miguel Villa-" a dark skinned boy with shrewd black eyes and a quirky, charming grin.

"Guys," I told the assorted munchkins, "This is my boyfriend Fred Weasley, his brother George, and over there by the window is Lee Jordan.

"Hello," Bryony chimed pleasantly, dimples erupting in both round cheeks, "It's nice to meet you."

"You as well, little one," George cooed, kissing the back of the girl's dainty hand.

She giggled and blushed.

While the first years were getting themselves situated, I dug into Fred's pocket and checked his watch and discovered that we still had several hours before reaching our destination. Though I would've loved nothing more than to not move a muscle, I still had to find Cho. With a groan, I fought my way back to my feet.

"Play nicely, boys and girls," I declared, "I'll be back soon."

By that point, the kids had found Marigold lazing in a sunbeam and were distracted by her awesome cuddliness. The twins were showing off a few WWW products and already trying to recruit testers.

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I took my uniform along with me, changed quickly, and then got down to the search. Actually finding the girl was quite an ordeal, and I came across Harry, Ginny, Neville, a strange Ravenclaw named Luna Lovegood, and two of Cedric's Hufflepuff friends, Joshua Lerner and Matthew Summerby. I even saw the then-second-year Slytherin boy who I'd rescued from the top of the boar statue at the end of the last year, Quentin Raeburn. He was very happy that I was there and that I was the Head Girl, insisting on dragging me halfway down the train to introduce me to his best friend, Ravenclaw Stewart Ackerley. Stewart was a slim, mousey boy with huge glasses and almost feminine features and a tendency to talk very, very quickly and gesture wildly when he got excited.

Even though I really enjoyed chatting with those individuals and many others, after nearly an hour of searching, I still had no sign of Cho.

And then a sixth-year Gryffindor prefect approached cautiously. Her name was Wendy Hawthorn, and she used to be one of my roommates, used to be a pudgy little brunette A-cup with bad teeth and acne and a healthy fear of me. By then, however, she had grown a few inches, lost a little weight and a lot of pimples. And although she was still obviously afraid that I would devour her soul, she barely trembled at all as she stated, "Um, there's a student who's locked herself in the engine compartment. She won't come out."

"Thanks for letting me know," I said with a big, syrupy sweet smile, turning and marching back toward the front of the train.

Wendy followed nervously, chewing on her plump bottom lip. She kept opening her mouth like she wanted to talk but then shutting it again.

Finally, I chirped, "Something on your mind, Hawthorn?"

She shook her head frantically.

The door to the engine compartment was, indeed, locked from the inside. I knocked, calling, "Hello? Who's in there?" I received no answer, so I magicked it open and stepped inside.

Cho was sitting on a tall crate and hugging her skinny knees to her still flat midsection.

I slammed the door in Wendy's face. "Are you alright?" I inquired.

Eyes puffy and bloodshot, face ghostly white, Cho nodded."Sorry," she sighed, "I just... everyone was... staring. Whispering. I couldn't take it."

"No worries," I declared, putting a comforting arm around her slight shoulders, "I definitely know how obnoxious that kind of thing can get... do you want to come sit with the twins and me? They're very good at scaring away gawkers."

She shook her head, murmuring, "Maybe later. I'm actually quite comfortable here on my own." The low chug of the engine was rather soothing, the room warm but not unpleasantly so.

"Alrighty," I agreed, "Just make sure to come find me if you need anything... and you should stop by my suite tomorrow night. I finally got my hands on a real blood test kit, so we can try that out."

"Joy," Cho deadpanned.

With a laugh, I went for the door and declared, "Love the enthusiasm, babe! Oh, and if anyone gives you any problems about sitting in here, just tell them that I said it was ok."

Staring out the big front windows, she chuckled, "I'm not sure if you're going to be the best Head Girl ever or the worst."

Brightly, I agreed, "You and me both, sweetheart."

xxXxx

The remainder of the ride was relatively uneventful. Mostly, the twins and I regaled our ever-increasing flock of pint-sized admirers with tales of hijinks of yore, but there were a few issues that the prefects brought to me to solve: a fistfight between two third-year Ravenclaws who had discovered they were sharing a girlfriend, a fifth-year Hufflepuff who knocked herself out walking into a closed door, and several distraught first-years who ended up squeezing in with my group until the train stopped.

"First years to the boats!" I called over the sounds of chaos on the platform, "Leave your trunks! They'll be taken care of! All first years should proceed to the boat launch area in an orderly fashion! If your fashion is not orderly, then you'd better damn well be tapdancing!"

Seizing my hand and stealing a quick kiss, Fred flashed a grin and whispered, "George and I are going up through the Honeydukes passage to put everything in place. Save us a seat, love."

"Of course," I replied with a wicked smirk, "Don't be late. You'll miss my speech."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the redhead laughed, disappearing into the crowd.

I smiled and got back to my duties, bellowing, "First years, you are riding in the boats! And you! Munchkin! Stop right there!"

A chubby boy with frizzy blonde hair and slightly gapped front teeth froze with a handful of chocoballs halfway to his mouth. "What?" he squeaked.

They were so cute when they squeaked.

"Don't spoil your appetite," I answered with a warm smile and quick wink, "You'll thank me later."

He just stared, confused but unafraid.

Arching a thin eyebrow at the boy, I inquired, "What's your name, cutie pie?"

"Orlando," he answered meekly, chocoballs melting all over his grubby fingers, "Orlando Palladino."

"Well," I replied, "I'm Stella Black, and I'm the Head Girl. It's very nice to meet you. The boats are just right over there. Can't miss 'em." I would've said that you can't miss the huge man running them, but I hadn't spotted Hagrid yet; his was a conspicuous absence.

Orlando nodded and scampered along to join the rest of his class.

Anyways, I directed traffic like that for awhile before finally wandering toward the carriages, waving to Harry. He seemed distracted by the thestrals, as most people seeing them for the first time often are. He'd watched Cedric die, and the thought alone threatened to bring me to tears.

It seemed like Luna was taking care of the explanation though, so I hopped on board with Quentin and Stewart and a second-year Slytherin girl named Jana Cadwallader whose older brother Emil was a Hufflepuff in my rightful year.

Jana seemed sweet, and I was happy that Quentin seemed to be making friends. He was sort of the Slytherin black sheep after his pure-bloodmother had remarried a muggle-born and given him a half-blood baby brother. But having the twins and me to back him up had at least kept him from getting beaten on anymore.

The ride seemed like seconds; my traveling companions and I split up to our respective tables. I chose a mostly empty stretch close to the front of the room, figuring that I would need space for the twins and any new Gryffindors we might feel the urge to snag and befriend.

Fred and George didn't take too long getting everything situated, arriving from the kitchen with grins that had half the Hall looking nervous. They sat on either side of me, Fred throwing an arm around my shoulders and whispering, "All set, love."

I grinned back and giggled manically.

Ron kept giving us dirty looks from down the table, twitching at every loud noise.

The Sorting began with the Hat spouting off a new, kind of ominous yet touching song about how even though they were split into houses, everyone should do their best to unite as a school. Since that was kind of my plan for the year, I rather liked the little ditty.

We got nine new Gryffindors, all of whom sat with the twins and me. They were still nervous but warmed up quickly, proved themselves to be a pretty bright and rowdy bunch. Bryony Dunstan from the train was among their numbers, and it turned out that I'd met her older brother, Mason Dunstan, during my little field trip to St. Mungo's. There was also Euan Abercrombie, Christopher Ingram (Topher, he insisted), Mirinda Jarvi, Simone King (whose older sister, Davina, was a second-year Gryffindor and joined us around dessert), Timothy (Timmy) McNamara, Annemarie Rowe, Jeremiah (Jerry) Tao, and Dashiell (Dash) Wickham.

Larkin Shaw and Orlando Palladino both ended up in Slytherin (which I wouldn't have called in a million years), Tabitha Lively and Delmar Gray in Hufflepuff, and Miguel Villa in Ravenclaw. I made sure to wave to them and a few others I'd chatted with as they took their seats.

All in all, it was a good meal. But it didn't get really interesting until it was already over.

Dumbledore stood and began his speech, announcing some normal, boring things, as well as the fact that Professor Grubbly-Plank would be taking over CoMC for an undisclosed amount of time and that we were welcoming yet another new Defense teacher, Professor Umbridge.

That would've usually been the point at which the twins and I laid odds on how she would go out: canned, killed, driven crazy, revealed to be a servant of the Dark Lord, etc. But this Umbridge woman actually had the nerve to stand and interrupt the headmaster with a rude little _hem, hem_ cough and a speech of her own.

It was utter bullshit, ridiculous bureaucratic doubletalk, and I surely would've been lulled to sleep in minutes if not for the annoyingly high pitch of her little-girl voice and how absurdly it clashed with her toad-like body and atrocious fashion sense. She went on and on with this long-winded diatribe about Ministry policies and education, reform and tradition or some such paradoxical nonsense. The twins and I shared eye rolls and yawns all throughout.

When she was finally done, I saw my moment.

"Alright!" I shouted, heavy on the sarcasm as I clapped and stood and climbed up on the table and spun to address the room, "Let's hear it for Professor Umbridge, everybody! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

Playing along as I could always depend on them to do, the twins cheered and whistled, and soon we even earned a bit more sparse, kind of confused applause from around the room.

"_Anyways_," I continued, "Hi! As most of you may know and some of you may not, my name is Stella Black, and I'm the Head Girl this year."

I gave it a moment to sink in, smirking as the stares and whispers got exponentially more confused, some downright worried. Finally, I continued, "I'm always available to answer questions and solve problems, and I highly encourage anyone having issues with either professors or fellow students to bring their concerns directly to me. Bullying and bigotry will not be tolerated and will be dealt with swiftly. If you're unclear about what that means, feel free to speak with me after dinner for a one-on-one demonstration of the result of violating my policy."

"Miss Black-" Dumbledore began warningly, probably already regretting my appointment. Well, too late.

"Oh, right," I chirped, smiling brilliantly and snapping my fingers. Flyers that the twins had so graciously arranged began to fall from the ceiling as I went on, "I'll be giving tours of the castle all day tomorrow, and you can find the times and meeting places printed on those sheets. Mostly this is for you first years, so that you can find your way around more easily, but everyone is welcome, and there will be refreshments. I look forward to a great year, and now I'll turn the floor over to my partner in crime, Head Boy Adrian Pucey."

The twins, the trio, Ginny, and a few others clapped and cheered for me as I sat down, as attention gradually shifted to a very shell-shocked Pucey, to whom I'd given absolutely no warning of our speeches. He stood awkwardly but didn't climb onto the table, instead just looking around the room for a few blank moments before coughing and declaring, "Um, hi. Ya. I'm... Adrian. Pucey... I... don't really have anything to add."

And then he sat down again.

He only got a smattering of applause, basically just me and a few Slytherins.

At the front of the room, most of the professors were trying not to laugh. In fact, pretty much the only exceptions to the general trend of hastily stifled giggles were Snape and Umbridge, both of whom looked irate and scandalized.

Dumbledore was a bit aggravated but mostly amused. He kneaded his temples and eventually sighed, "Thank you, Miss Black, Mr. Pucey... as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held..."

He went on for awhile longer and then finally dismissed the group. Snickering evilly, the twins and I skipped off to locate my suite. As we passed Ron, he frowned quizzically at us, undoubtedly concerned with the lack of prank.

I winked at him, and he got all flustered, got yanked back to the firstie herding by Hermione.

xxXxx

"I swear," George cackled as we strode along a long hallway, "You should've seen Umbridge's face. She turned at least three separate shades of purple."

Laughing into his brother's delightfully muscular shoulder, I answered, "After the speech she gave, the hag should just count herself lucky that all I did was jump on a table and get people to cheer for her. Besides, she's the Ministry stooge that Dumbledore was so worried about."

"I can see why," muttered Fred. He rested his cheek on the top of my head and added, "You were smashing, love."

With a smile, I hummed, "Why thank you. The flyer-drop worked perfectly. You two are masters of your art."

"Such flattery," George chuckled, "We'd best keep an eye on that. Stella could end up turning into a politician right before our very eyes."

Swiping at him playfully, I argued, "It would serve you right. After all, I'd already be a small business co-owner if you two would quit being so bloody noble."

"Oh, not this again," George crowed, "We only took Harry's Triwizard winnings because he threatened to flush them otherwise."

"And besides," Fred contributed sweetly, "We already consider you a co-owner. You've helped us with most of the products and thought up the rest yourself, so there's no reason to buy your way in."

I huffed, trying and failing to hide my smile against his chest. "Should've told me that before I spent all summer complaining," I muttered, feeling my cheeks turn a bit pink.

With a laugh, Fred answered, "Well, we thought you knew. And anyways, we're set for funding at the moment."

George sniggered, "Especially if we keep buying our illegal ingredients from Dung. He's so terrified of you that he hasn't charged full price for anything since he almost let Harry get eaten by dementors."

That was about the time that we arrived at the suite entrance, the hallway opening up into a wide, round indoor courtyard. The room was huge, with big windows that looked out over the lake. There were no portraits on the walls, but rather a statue at the very center: a black marble tree whose branches stretched up and almost touched the high domed ceiling on all sides.

We'd come across the strange statue a few times before, found it in full black foliage and blooms like it was that day; we'd also found it bare in the winter, covered in delicate buds in the spring, and surrounded by piles of detached black leaves in the fall. None of us had realized that it was actually the entrance to the Heads' quarters.

"Wicked," said George, peering up into the bushy canopy and jumping to swing by both arms from a low branch, "Once I figure out how to fly, I can sit up in your tree and divebomb intruders."

Laughing, I argued, "Georgie, I just got finished telling people that they could come to me with anything. How's it going to look if I have a raven attacking them when they try?"

"Good point," he hummed, rather disappointed. He'd been really looking forward to divebombing. Of course, he would have to learn to actually fly first, and every attempt so far had ended in some sort of bodily injury. The young man flipped over and hooked his knees on the branch, letting himself hang upside-down as his shirt slid past his hairy armpits.

Knocking on the thick trunk, Fred inquired, "What now?"

Unfurling the small scroll that had been handed off to me by McGonogall after dinner, I read, "_Dear Miss Black, Let me congratulate you-_ blah blah blah..._ great responsibility-_ blah blah blah... oh, ok. _The entrance is located in the enchanted Tree of Knowledge statue on the fourth floor. Your badge acts as a key_..." I continued to skim and couldn't find any more useful information. With a puzzled frown, I tucked the note away and took off my badge. I waved it at the tree, tapped it against the tree, even politely requested, "Badge, open my tree, please."

Nothing.

"Stel," Fred finally laughed, standing around the far side and waving me over. At about shoulder height here was a carving of the school's crest, an exact relief of my badge, minus the HG.

Feeling like the dorkiest dork who had ever dorked, I pressed my badge into the indentation and watched as a seamless panel slid open to reveal a marble staircase spiraling right down through the floor. It kind of looked like a series of conveniently shaped roots, pretty and ornate in a natural, unintentional sort of way.

The narrow steps led into the center of a rather cozy round common room. Already inspecting my new residence as I traveled down the last few twists, I noted a hearth surrounded by a squashy black sofa and chairs and a shaggy sheepskin rug, a workspace with a table and some bookshelves set up by the wide, lake-view windows, and, lastly, two very short sets of steps that led up to two different ledges and closed bedrooms doors. Mine had a Gryffindor crest on the outside, and Pucey's had a Slytherin crest.

"Sweet setup," George remarked with a short, impressed whistle. Instead of waiting for his brother and me to move out of his way, the redhead jumped from the spot where the staircase emerged from the ceiling (a good ten or so meters off the ground), vaulting over the thin railing and flopping onto the sofa.

"Don't break anything," I scolded, swatting his leg as Fred and I fell into one of the very comfortable chairs, "At least not the first day."

George nodded, folded his hands behind his head and agreed, "True. We've got all year to get up to no good in here. It'd be a shame to wreck the place up so soon... you think there's snacks?"

Almost before he was through asking, a sharp _POP_ startled the hell out of me as a cute little grayish-purple house-elf appeared in the center of the sheepskin rug. "Hello, Miss Stella Black and Miss Stella Black's friends," the creature chirped adorably, eyes huge and smile wide, nose long and slim and somewhat Pinocchio-esque, "I am very!"

We all blinked at it (her?). Finally, I questioned, "You're very what?"

She cocked her head, still smiling brilliantly and chiming, "I am very!"

A little quicker than the rest of us that night, George carefully inquired, "Your name is Verry?"

"The hungry one is so wise!" Verry gushed, bowing so low that the tip of her nose touched the tip of her toes. Her little Hogwarts-crest emblazoned tea-towel was impeccably neat, but she smoothed it down anyways as she stood again, asking, "What can Verry bring to feed the friends of Miss Stella Black?"

George was still a bit bewildered, stumbling, "Er... um... how about... popcorn and butterbeer? Please?"

"Right away, sir!" the house-elf replied, vanishing with another _POP_.

"That's going to take some getting used to," I chuckled.

"Are you kidding?" George beamed, "You have your own house-elf! An actually good one instead of that creepy little freak Kreacher! This is going to be awesome!"

Verry reappeared with a large tray that held a massive bowl of popcorn and four butterbeers. The fourth drink was slightly confusing, but then I heard the tree-trunk door opening and someone walking down the stairs.

"Hi, Adrian," I chirped as he emerged, "Verry here was good enough to bring a snack. Fancy having a butterbeer with us?"

He shot me an extremely unfriendly glare and stomped straight into his room, slamming the door loudly behind himself.

Verry's pointed ears wilted, her bottom lip quivered, and the poor little creature burst into tears.

xxXxx

After comforting the distraught house-elf (assuring her that Pucey was mad at me and not her, that, yes, she was excellently servile and all a Head could ask for, that she could stop slamming her head against the floor, pretty please) and arranging for her to arrange the refreshments I would need for my tours, there was only one item left on the agenda for that night.

"Stel," Fred laughed, blindfolded as I dragged him up a long staircase, "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," I giggled. It was a struggle to remain relatively quiet, but I didn't want to be caught. Clutching the broom George had loaned me, I finally reached the top of the tower and instructed, "Ok, you have to get on the broom."

"Flying somewhere, eh?" Fred mused, carefully straddling the handle and wrapping his arms tight around my waist, "So, not in the castle?"

Elbowing him lightly when he nipped at my neck, I scolded, "No hints. And cut that out. I have to concentrate, or we're going to end up falling. You know I'm not that good at flying."

Fred responded by slipping both his hands up the front of my shirt. Sneaky bastard always did have a bit of a death wish.

It was a wobbly ride but a short one, pretty much just up and over (usually I would've just climbed, but that would've been tricky with the tie tied over Fred's eyes), and then we were touching down on the roof. "Ok," I said, a little breathless as my boyfriend continued with his very distracting caresses, "You can look now."

"I dunno," he chuckled against my shoulder, "Kinda kinky like this."

"Fred," I whined, reaching back and undoing the knot on the blindfold, "I don't interfere with your surprises."

With a theatrical sigh, he responded, "Well, my surprises typically involve a lot more nudity."

I elbowed him and laughed, instructing, "Just look, you pervert."

His front was pressed tight against my back as he blinked out at our surroundings. I felt him tense up as he observed, "The roof of the Astronomy Tower."

"Our first kiss," I declared, turning in his embrace to find the redhead frowning. "What is it?" I asked, kind of let down by the reaction. It was supposed to be stunningly romantic and lead to a great deal of heated snogging. (Fred wasn't the only one who enjoyed surprises involving nudity.)

"Nothing," he mumbled, pouting at his feet.

I rolled my eyes and burrowed into his chest, chiming, "What's on your mind, Frankenstein?"

Fred kissed the top of my head, wrapped his arms around me and just swayed us for a few moments. "Our first kiss was amazing," he finally admitted, squeezing me tight, "Second one, too. I just... afterward, I acted like an idiot, and you were mad at me until after Christmas."

Yes, I did remember that. Fred was embarrassed that he liked me, and I ended up overhearing him tell his brother that he thought I was ugly and annoying. I didn't talk to either twin until we got back from break. "I know you didn't mean it," I soothed, "You were, what? Thirteen? Thirteen-year-old boys are supposed to act like idiots around girls they like. I only really think of the good parts of what happened. I mean, I was crying before, and afterward, you were an arse, but in between... well, it was pretty nice."

"We can agree on that at least," Fred laughed, "But I'm still sorry I ever hurt you."

"Nobody's perfect, Freddie," I said with a smirk, "And I love you just the way you are, idiot moments and all." Before he could answer, I went on tiptoes and otherwise occupied his lovely mouth.

xxXxx

I didn't expect too many people to show for the 7 AM tour, but I actually did end up with quite the little crowd standing sleepily at the entrance to the Great Hall. Most were frightened first years, but there were a few older kids. Quentin, Stewart, and Jana all came, as did another Slytherin girl, a pale third year named Astoria Greengrass. She seemed nice enough, if a bit quiet and reserved.

Fred and George had been good enough to escort the small contingent of Gryffindors, including Bryony Dunstan, Topher Ingram, Jerry Tao, Dash Wickham, and Simone King. Simone's second-year sister Davina was also in attendance with one of her roommates, Sadie Holiday.

The other two houses didn't have quite the showing. Besides Stewart, the only Ravenclaws who came were Miguel Villa and a pretty, dark-skinned girl named Nadira Nejem. Tabitha Lively was the solo 'puff.

But still, quite the turnout for 7 AM on a Monday.

As promised, Verry had set out juice and pastries and fruit, and I let everyone take their fill before we began. I tried to focus mostly on the routes that the firsties would need to get to their classes, sprinkling in some interesting history and amusing tales and cautionary notes. I even divulged a few hidden shortcuts. Those were a real hit.

The whole production took a bit longer than I thought it would, which I was going to have to watch out for that if I wanted the rest of the tours to go smoothly. But we were all back at the Great Hall at around 8:15, plenty of time for everyone to catch breakfast with their friends (and to hopefully spread the word that my tour was awesome).

Anyways, I spent the rest of the meal squashed between the twins, trying to read up on more pre-natal spells while they did their best to distract me.

"Honestly, Feorge," George sighed theatrically, tugging away my book, "I'd forgotten Stella was so scholarly in the morning. Can't you do something about her atrocious study habits?"

"At least I _have_ study habits," I answered, smacking the big lug as he dangled my reading material out of reach. When it didn't seem likely that George would be returning the text any time soon, I whined, "Freddie, control your twin!"

Fred just laughed into his pancakes.

Lee appeared with our schedules, giving me a crooked smile as he handed mine over first. "Yours is awful," he warned, "You don't have any free periods at all."

"I know," I sighed, "It's probably too much. I might end up dropping Muggle Studies and Divination. They're easy Os, but they're not really vital, and I'm pretty sure I can still pass the NEWTs without the classes themselves."

"But we're in those with you," Fred pointed out, he and his twin holding their time tables next to mine, "We'll have fun."

"Well," I snickered, "When you put it that way."

"Damn," George complained, "Herbology first."

Herbology was tied with History as the twins' least favorite class (even behind Potions), mainly because they couldn't blow anything up. They liked playing in the mud but not enough to make up for the lack of pyrotechnics. And unlike History, Herbology wasn't something they could drop or sleep through. It was pretty important for potion making to understand the properties of the ingredients.

"Charms right after though," Lee pointed out.

"Care of Magical Creatures after lunch," I contributed, munching on an apple, "At the very least, that's usually good for a bit of sunbathing. And I'll miss Hagrid, but the risk of getting bitten or mauled or something equally unpleasant has gone down considerably with him gone."

Ron threw himself down beside Lee, glaring across the table. "My piss is purple," he snarled.

"Huh," Fred responded innocently, "That's a neat trick."

Taking advantage of the distraction, I tackled George off the bench. We wrestled for a few moments, but he was pretty startled, so I didn't have any trouble nabbing my book back. "HA!" I shouted in triumph, straddling his chest, "Teach you to mess with my literature!"

Over the odd silence in the Hall, I heard the headmaster clear his throat as he stood to make an announcement. "Miss Black," he admonished flatly, a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

I stood and saluted, yanked George up, and we both took our seats.

"I realize that many of you have found yourselves... strangely afflicted this morning," said Dumbledore, raising a bristly white eyebrow in the direction of the twins and I, "Madame Pomfrey has assured me that any... digestive irregularities are entirely harmless and will fade with time. There is no need to seek medical attention."

My cohorts and I sniggered madly. Mischief managed.

xxXxx

So that was the first day: classes, tours, colorful urine and people freaking out despite Dumbledore's reassurances. I mean, it was my idea and all, but I hadn't counted on just how strongly some of the other kids would react. The Hospital Wing was packed full for hours, with a line out the door and down the hallway.

Ron didn't speak to us for almost two weeks.

But anyways, after a full block of lessons and three other laps of the castle with my tours (which were a huge hit and were attended by students as old as fifth year), I was pretty exhausted. I almost fell asleep on Fred's shoulder during dinner. He kept nagging me to go to bed, but I had more work to do: a ton of homework already, new prefect schedules, Cho's checkup, more healer studying.

"Stella?"

Plus, I had a whole year's worth of firsties to look after.

"What can I do for you, young Master Palladino?" I greeted the slightly chubby, frizzy blonde-haired Slytherin as appeared at our table.

Offering a kind of flighty, nervous half-smile, Orlando declared, "I wanted to go on your tour, but I got lost in the dungeon all day. I don't think I know how to get anywhere. Can you help me?"

"Hmm," I replied, "That is a pickle... well, I have a lot of work tonight, but I can show you around before breakfast tomorrow, let's say seven-thirtyish... in the meantime, um... do you know Quentin Raeburn or Jana Cadwallader?"

Orlando shook his head.

I stood from the table, yawning and kissing Fred's forehead. "I'll introduce you," I told the small boy, "I'm sure they won't mind looking out for you until you get your bearings."

"Thanks," Orlando beamed. He slid his hand into mine as we walked, which was slightly weird but not really anything to worry about. I got the impression that Orlando was just a bit odd, maybe sensitive. Definitely sweeter than your typical Slytherin, and he didn't seem to have one even remotely cunning bone in his whole plump body.

Quentin and Jana had already left for the night, but Larkin Shaw, another first-year Slytherin who was wearing a Sex Pistols t-shirt under his uniform, was good enough to let Orlando tagalong with him. Larkin had come to my after-lunch tour and asked a million and a half questions about everything under the sun. Apparently, the wide-eyed brunette was a pure-blood whose father had raised him as a muggle, so the boy was just slightly overwhelmed by his new magical life. Making him and Orlando be friends was actually a good arrangement for the both of them; Larkin needed someone to explain things to him, and Orlando needed someone to keep him from getting beaten up/lost/distracted/etc. They really seemed to hit it off.

Anyways, that didn't take too long, and then I wandered back to the table to find the twins with their heads together, Fred glaring at the pair of firsties as they walked out of the Hall laughing.

"What's up, love?" I asked, falling into his lap and yawning against his neck.

Fred wrapped his arms around me and grumbled, "Those little brats kept checking out your arse."

Snickering, I replied, "Even if they were, don't tell me you're jealous of a pair of first years?" His pout made me laugh harder, adding, "It's sweet, I suppose. But don't worry. I'm pretty sure that if I actually had any desire whatsoever to cheat on you, I could do better than prepubescent Slytherins."

"That's not even funny," he complained, even though he chuckled and began to tickle me mercilessly.

"_Hem, hem_," I heard, the sound immediately sending an entirely unpleasant shiver down the length of my spine. Fred and I both turned to find Umbridge standing behind us in all her tubby pink glory.

"Yes, Professor?" I inquired as sweetly as I could manage... it was a stretch because I had a very strong desire to hex the horrid bow out of her mousy curled hair.

Matching my faux sweetness with a hefty dose of her own, Umbridge announced, "Do you think, perhaps, that such public _fraternization_ might not be setting the best example for your fellow students?"

"I don't see why," I answered, smiling at Fred and kissing his cheek, "My boyfriend and I love each other very much. We're respectful and responsible, and we have a lot of fun together. What better example could there be of a healthy adult relationship?"

Her brow furrowed, and she opened her toadish mouth like she was going to rebut.

"Although I do apologize if we've caused a scene," I interrupted with a friendly smile, "It wasn't our intention to make you uncomfortable."

At some point, a majority of the Gryffindor table and the next one over had gone quiet to listen to our little standoff.

Umbridge seemed a bit floored at the apology, stalling for a moment before _hem, hem _coughing again and continuing, "I just think that an educational environment should be kept as wholesome and distraction-free as possible. We are shaping young minds, you know, and clean minds are happy minds."

Bristling but doing my best to keep up the act, I stated, "Of course, ma'am. In the future, we'll be sure to keep our affections behind closed doors where they belong."

Umbridge frowned at me but didn't get a chance to add anything else before Fred and I stood and, with his brother and Lee in tow, took our leave.

xxXxx

I put off the rest of my work in favor of dragging Fred to Umbridge's hideously pink and lacy office and snogging him on her desk, doing _dirty _things that made the creepy cats in the hideous plates on her walls yowl and hide their eyes. Ah, sweet revenge.

Afterward, in a much better mood (_clean minds are happy minds_ my arse), I bade Fred an enthusiastic good night and ran to meet Cho at my suite. We got there at about the same moment. I hugged her hello, and then we traveled in through the tree.

"Adrian," I greeted my grouchy roommate, who was sprawled on the couch by the fire, "I hope you had a lovely day."

He just grunted at me and sneered, barely even looking up from his book.

"Well," I continued, unconcerned, "Cho and I just have a bit of girl-talk to catch up on, so we'll be in my room. Night."

"He seems... nice," Cho commented sarcastically, hugging her still-flat midsection as she walked around examining my spacious boudoir.

I hadn't yet gotten around to really decorating, so the walls were bare for the moment. However, it was still a delightful space, with a red mahogany dresser, desk, and four poster, a hearth and a squashy red armchair, another large lake-view window, and a small walk-in closet. The en-suite bathroom was probably my favorite part, boasting a huge stone waterfall shower and an even bigger bathtub with a whole array of taps that spat a whole array of colorful, sweet-smelling bubbles on command. Full-length mirrors took up a whole wall, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the counter by the sink; Verry always made sure I had fresh flowers even when it got into winter.

"I'm sure Pucey is still a little sore at me," I laughed, picking up Marigold from my pillow and giving her a cuddle, "But I'm not too terribly concerned with his feelings. Anyways, how've you been? Want a snack or a drink or anything before we get started?"

Smiling weakly, Cho answered, "Well, I've been a little nauseas, so some ginger ale would be nice."

"Of course," I said, "Verry?"

_POP_. "Yes, Miss Stella Black?" the house-elf chirped, bowing brightly, "What can Verry do for you?"

"We'd like some ginger ale, please," I requested, "And a pitcher of ice water would be very nice as well."

"Right away, Miss Stella Black!" And then she was gone with another _POP_.

Cho chuckled and sat down on my bed, commenting, "Quite a job perk."

Verry was back in only a few moments with another tray laden with drinks, and she'd even thrown in a plate of chocolates and some artfully arranged cut fruit. I thanked her heartily until the cute little thing actually blushed and left with another deep bow.

Cho and I drank and munched in silent for a few long minutes. I asked her about her first day, and she answered but didn't have very much to say. Finally, the girl sighed and muttered, "So... blood test? Is that all we're doing for now?"

"Ya," I replied, "I want to practice the other stuff a lot more before I actually try it on you. The blood test kit is pretty straight forward though, and I just need to check the levels of some of the chemicals and hormones in your blood to make sure everything is alright. Shouldn't even hurt."

"Ok," the young woman agreed with a shrug, "Let's get this over with."

I dug out the kit I'd sent away for (several vials and wire-thin needles of various sizes) and cast the necessary charms to sterilize the smallest container. Cho held out her finger, and I took a deep breath.

"I had a dream about Cedric last night," the Ravenclaw murmured sadly, looking away as I pricked the needle into the side of her index finger.

I waited for the vial to fill and for Cho to continue.

And she did, eventually, sniffling and chuckling, "He didn't say anything, just... smiled a little. Waved. And then I woke up... It was really kind of silly."

"Not at all," I replied, patting her arm, "You probably just needed to see his face. Sometimes it's the simple things that help us the most. I remember about a year after my mum died, I found a pair of her earrings in the back of a drawer. I pierced my ears myself with a sewing needle just so that I could wear them. I got blood all over the living room, and my godfather was so angry. I still put them on every now and again, when I miss her the most. They always make me feel better."

Cho gave a crooked grin, softly admitting, "I have Cedric's scarf. He gave it to me after one of our dates, and I didn't get a chance to give it back... I wore it to bed all summer."

Removing the vial, I declared, "No reason not to."

"I miss him so much," sighed the Ravenclaw, fiddling with my duvet as I healed the prick on her finger, "I think about him all the time. How it's not fair that he died so young, that he won't ever get to meet his son. That his son will never know what a great man he was."

"Cedric would've been a wonderful father," I commented, "And I'm sure between the two of us, we can make sure the little peanut knows exactly that."

"Peanut?" Cho chuckled, "That's what you're calling him?"

"Until you tell me otherwise, Mummy dearest," I laughed, winking and packing away my supplies, "Anyways, we're all done. I'll nab the ingredients I need for the testing tomorrow and hopefully let you know what turns up by the end of the week... you tuckered out, or do you want to stay and annoy Pucey with me?" I grinned and gave my eyebrows what I hoped was an enticing wiggle.

Cho shook her head and snickered, "As fun as that sounds, I think I'll just go to bed, thanks... I mean, really, Stella, thank you so much. Nothing about this is easy, but... you kind of make it seem like it is. I appreciate that a lot."

"My pleasure," I answered, standing and walking the Ravenclaw out.

Pucey was still where'd I'd left him, black hair still slicked back from his thin, angular face as he sneered into a textbook. As soon as Cho was gone, he commented, "I didn't think you actually had friends who weren't boorish gingers." He snapped his book shut and smirked insufferably, continuing, "But that Chang is a real piece. Next time, send her into my room, and I'll make her forget all about the pretty boy Hufflepuff."

I sighed and shook my head at him, stating, "You know, I really had hoped that this arrangement could be at least marginally civil, but I can see now that that's probably not possible. So, in the interest of never having to hear your voice again, I'm going to ask you a question, and I would like you to think very hard before you answer."

"You can't scare me," he hissed, throwing his book across the room, standing and getting right in my face, "You caught me by surprise on the train, but it won't happen again! I know curses you couldn't dream up in your worst nightmares."

With an eye roll, I chuckled, "Don't be so sure. Now-" I took out my wand and twirled it lazily, "Where would you like me to hex your bollocks to?"

Despite his earlier threats and bluster, the Slytherin turned about two shades paler. "_Excuse me_?" he gaped, already backing away.

(I've found that most male bravado will go straight out the window if you just threaten their junk. Handy little trick, that.)

"Where would you like me to hex your bollocks to?" I repeated slowly, slowly advancing, "Because at first, I figured I'd do one from each side of your thick skull. But now I don't know. It seems like a shame to split up the set. Maybe the chin would be a better choice. Or the forehead." Giving my most manic smile, I gushed, "Yes, that's perfect! You can walk around all day with your ball hairs tickling your nose and think about what it means to be a decent human being rather than an utter _dick head_. Now, hold still."

Pucey yelped and made a run for his bedroom, barely ducking out of my first blast of spellfire. "YOU'RE FUCKING MAD!" he shrieked, diving to avoid the next bolt, "I'LL HAVE YOU EXPELLED, YOU FUCKING LUNATIC!"

"Self-defense, Adrian," I cackled, likening my newest hobby to one of those duck-shooting games at muggle carnivals. I'd always thought they were rather barbaric, but that moment made me see the appeal. "Besides," I continued, blowing apart the table Pucey had hidden behind, "If all the crap I did during my fourth year didn't get me expelled, then just trying to teach you a bit of manners probably won't even be a blip on the radar."

"STOP IT!" he screamed, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

I did pause in my attack, thinking briefly before calmly announcing, "I'd like your help making up the new prefect schedules, but only if you can keep your idiot mouth from running away with itself."

Just the top of his head and the whites of his eyes appeared over the top of a smoldering pile of wreckage.

Grinning, I offered, "Like I said, Adrian, I really had preferred that this arrangement remain civil. As long as I'm handing out second chances, I don't see why you can't get just one more._ If _you behave."

"A-Alright," he hesitantly agreed, standing and brushing himself off, "Alright, just... just don't do that ever again."

"That would be entirely up to you, dear-heart," I cooed menacingly, restoring the demolished room with a wordless flick of my wand.

Pucey seemed grudgingly impressed

"Now," I went on, bouncing over to the bare work table near the window, "What do you think of pairing Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy for a patrol? Crazy, right? But I still can't help wanting to see what would happen..."

xxXxx

The following morning, I was a little late to meet up with Orlando for his tour and doing that stupid thing where I walk swiftly through the castle not paying attention to where I'm going, reading or shuffling my belongings instead of actually watching my surroundings. It really was a bad habit, as falling down the stairs the year before proved quite well, so I shouldn't have been surprised at all when I was suddenly grabbed around the waist and yanked into a dim corridor.

Not expecting my attacker to in fact be my wonderful boyfriend, I screamed bloody murder and elbowed him in the face.

"OW! 'UCK!" he bellowed, releasing me immediately in favor of cradling his broken nose.

I whirled on my heel, wand already out and ready to hex the pants off whoever dared assault me. However, when I saw it was just Fred, all that righteous anger melted away in a split second. "Oh, hell," I gasped, unbelievably guilty, "Freddie, I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was you! Are you alright? Let me see! Godric's grapes, what on earth were you thinking sneaking up on me like that?" Before he could gurgle a reply, I seized his chin with one hand and aimed my wand with the other, quickly chanting, "_Episkey_."

He winced as the broken cartilage snapped back into place, the bleeding stopping seconds after. I couldn't do much about the raccoon-like bruising already settling around both watering eyes though. Sniffling and swiping at the gore on his face, he pouted, "Just trying to surprise you, love."

"Idiot," I laughed fondly, banishing the blood and then hugging him tightly, "You have to let me know when you're going to surprise me. I'm sort of a hex-fist-ask-questions-later kind of girl."

"Obviously," he chuckled, pecking my forehead.

I remembered that I was still late and yanked him along with me, questioning, "To what do I owe the unexpected kidnapping?"

"Just missed you," Fred replied, smirking smugly and stealing another kiss. After a few more steps, he added, "And I figured you might want my help giving the tour again."

Returning an accusing grin, I teased, "Sure you're not still jealous of the ickle Slytherins?"

"Not _jealous_," he defended sheepishly, "Just annoyed at the pervy little buggers... by the way, you're looking especially attractive this morning. Rule-breaking has never been so sexy."

Probably blushing, I swatted him lightly and wondered, "What are you talking about?"

One of his hands strayed to my arse, giving a firm squeeze and making me realize that I was not wearing a typical plaid uniform skirt. "Oops," I snickered, smoothing down my clingy black leather mini, "I was in a bit of a hurry and guess I grabbed the wrong one. You think I should go back and change?"

"Absolutely not!" Fred scolded dramatically, sweeping me off my feet and spinning me down the corridor.

xxXxx

Instead of finding just Orlando waiting for me outside the Great Hall, I found about half the male first-years, nearly a dozen boys total. "What's this?" I laughed, swatting Fred again when he growled at the munchkins, "Was my tour really that good that you lot came back for a second time through?" (In some cases, a third or fourth).

"Yes," they chimed, all smiling eagerly.

I started to understand why Fred was so annoyed; I definitely would've been had the situation been reversed. However, they were all so adorable and small that I didn't have the heart to do anything but chuckle and announce, "Alright then. Let's get a move on so that we don't miss breakfast."

Before the tour got very far, I grabbed Orlando and Larkin each by the collar, bending down to grin at them and whisper, "I didn't completely get it before, but now I see that you two are definitely Slytherins."

They both smirked guiltily, squirming when I ruffled their hair. "Sneaky," I scolded, "But I'm glad you're making so many friends."

Fred didn't take long to calm down and used the opportunity to recruit more testers... ok, well maybe he calmed down _after_ recruiting the testers, but whatever works.

xxXxx

I had double Arithmancy on Tuesday mornings, and since neither twin had the attention span for the subject, I was on my own. Professor Vector was cool though; she said that she didn't mind if I knitted while she lectured (something to do with knitting being very mathematical), so I finished George's gloves and started on another hat. I was thinking of giving it to Ron to make up for the welcoming feast prank, which he was still sulking about.

Lee was in the class with me, as were Matthew Summerby and Joshua Lerner, so afterward we walked to lunch together while I explained a few concepts they were fuzzy on. We passed a large group of older Slytherins, and I was surprised when all I got were some usual glares and whispers, no threats or attempted spells whatsoever. Even though Pucey had been relatively well-behaved after my little fit, I'd expected him to take the first opportunity to round up a posse and enact some vengeance.

Interesting.

"Black!" someone shouted down the hallway. I turned and found Pucey stalking toward me, roughly dragging a sobbing Hufflepuff by the arm. "Deal with this!" he spat, completely beet-red, pissed off but still obviously quite embarrassed. He even added a sharp, rather insincere "Please" before fleeing as fast as he could go, skirting the other Slytherins almost manically.

Puzzled and annoyed by the odd behavior of my fellow Head, I quietly bade Lee and the others goodbye and got to comforting the poor girl. I ushered her into a more secluded hallway, conjured her a chair and a tissue and a glass of water, and found out her name: Phoebe Anderson, third year. I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong.

"I'm bleeding!" she finally whimpered, nowhere near calm but at least coherent, smudging at her wide, terrified brown eyes. Her little round face was all pale and blotchy, just slightly pimpled, and she looked like she really thought that she was dying.

Not seeing any obvious injuries, I tentatively questioned, "Is it between your legs, sweetheart?"

Phoebe nodded and began to bawl in earnest once again, hiding behind both hands and her dark bangs.

"Don't cry, honey," I soothed, sitting beside her and putting an arm around her slim shoulders, "I know it's probably very scary, but what's happening to you is perfectly natural. Has anyone ever told you what a period is? Maybe your mum?" The conversation was going to be a bit awkward for both of us, but with a little tact and sensitivity, I was hoping to lessen the trauma.

Shaking her head, Phoebe sniffled, "I don't have a mum. Just my dad. What's going on?"

I sighed and rifled through my bag for a medical textbook.

xxXxx

When I finally made it back to my suite much later that night, the first thing I did was slap Pucey upside his head. "What are you, twelve?" I scolded him, "That poor girl was utterly terrified! She came to you for help, and the only thing you could think to do was scare her even more?"

Despite the fact that he did look grudgingly guilty, the black-haired Slytherin defended, "I'm not about to explain... _that_ to some clueless Hufflepuff brat whose parents didn't even care enough to do it themselves! I'm not a bloody Health instructor!"

I smacked him again, fairly incensed. After taking care of Phoebe, I'd stomped around practically the whole castle trying unsuccessfully to find the Slytherin bastard. He wasn't in class or at dinner, and my mood had really suffered with having to wait to tell him off.

"OW!" Pucey complained, "Stop hitting me! I didn't do anything! Got the brat help anyways, didn't I?"

"Only after calling her a stupid, disgusting twit and dragging her down the hallway by her arm!" I shouted, "She had a bruise! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell is wrong with _you_?" he fired back, flustered and defensive, "At least when you were crazy you weren't so sickeningly nice all the time!"

Momentarily flustered, I ground my teeth and answered, "I've always been _sickeningly nice_. Just because you and the rest of this half-wit factory managed to drive me to violence and self-destruction doesn't mean that you know anything about me! And don't change the bloody subject!"

Pucey sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. "Fine," he snapped, "In the future, menstruating Hufflepuffs will be treated with the upmost limit of my compassion. Happy?"

"Not particularly," I said with an eye roll, amazed at the boy's peculiar rudeness, "But it will have to do." We glared at each other briefly and then stomped away to our respective bedrooms.

xxXxx

Pucey's oddness bothered me on and off for the next few days. He was an arsehole but somehow just not his normal slimy self; I got the feeling that there was something more going on with the young man. I didn't obsess over him or anything, but I'd walk past him in our lounge and wonder why he always sat in there instead of being out and about. I'd see him eating alone at lunch and wonder why he didn't join the crowd of seventh-year Slytherins at the other end of the table. In fact, I started to wonder why I never saw him talking with anyone who could even remotely be considered a friend of his.

But overall, I didn't spend that much time worrying about Pucey. I had plenty else with which to concern myself. Poor Phoebe Anderson was just the first of many issues I was called upon to resolve. I always seemed to be breaking up fights or talking neurotic students out of absolute meltdowns. Reversing spell damage and healing wounds, keeping the prefects in line. On Friday afternoon, Larkin Shaw tried to teach Orlando Palladino how to skateboard. You can probably guess how well that went.

"Hufflepuff's hemorrhoids," I grumbled at Larkin, holding my robe to Orlando's forehead in an effort to stem the bleeding, "What the blazes possessed you two brainiacs to ride that infernal thing at the top of a staircase?"

"We had a bit of time to kill before Charms," Larkin answered with a shrug. He leaned over my shoulder and stared in fascination at his friend's head wound, gasping, "Whoa. Lando, I think I can see your skull!"

Whoozy but conscious, Orlando gave a lopsided grin. "Really?" the portly little blonde asked in amazement, "Wicked. Somebody take a picture for me."

"Loons!" I scolded, struggling to keep my sticky grip on my wand, "Absolute maniacs!"

Orlando pouted a bit and then consoled himself by peering down my shirt.

"Stel," Fred complained, glaring at my clueless, concussed ogler, "We're going to be late for Defense." He was still a little peevish after Angelina's brutal quidditch tryout the day before, not to mention the insane training schedule she'd already handed down. He wasn't the least bit worried about being late to class; he was just cranky. (And, yes, that did happen occasionally, to both twins. They were pranksters, not robots, and they had moods just like everyone else.)

Cursing under my breath as I got blood on my leather mini (which I'd decided was far superior to the uniform tartans and had been wearing scandalously all week), I cast a few more healing charms and instructed, "Just go ahead without me. He needs the infirmary." I hoisted Orlando to his feet, sending one last apologetic glance at my annoyed boyfriend before dragging the wobbly first-year away.

Madame Pomfrey was impressed with the healing I'd managed to do on the injury. Honestly, I probably could've taken care of the whole thing, but with all the blood, I just didn't feel comfortable risking it. And Orlando did have a concussion, which I wouldn't have been able to do much about; I'd only read that chapter once so far and didn't have immediate access to the correct potions.

Anyways, after dropping Orlando off and then shuffling Larkin to his own lesson, all the while casting hasty cleaning charms on myself, I was late for Defense, sprinting into the classroom and squeezing in between the twins. "Sorry, professor," I huffed breathlessly, sending Umbridge a fake, sugary grin, "Head duties."

"I suppose," she simpered, seeming like she was debating calling me a liar to my face instead of just behind my back, "Let's not make a habit of such tardiness, Miss Black. There is much to learn."

"Of course, ma'am," I beamed.

She got back to her welcoming lecture, which wasn't really a lecture as much as her informing us smugly that we would be tackling only theory. Her infamous wands-away-quills-out nonsense. It was absurd, but I liked theory and figured I could deal.

Until I raised my hand and asked a question, a quite clever one, if I do say so myself.

"That is irrelevant," the bitch declared, dismissing me with a flap of her teeny, fat hooves, "You will be required to know the information that I provide. Nothing more."

I was so stunned that I couldn't answer immediately, staring open-mouthed at her gelatinous rump and hypnotic pendulums of arm fat. Finally, I raised my hand again.

"So, let me get this straight," I began incredulously, "Am I to understand that you not only won't allowing us to gain _any_ practical experience with these spells, but that you'll _also_ not be encouraging an open forum of intellectual discussion on even the theoretical components?"

She really was a dull one, taking a brief moment to decipher yet another one of my clever questions before snarling, "Exactly, Miss Black. Now, please refrain from causing any more disruptions during the remainder of the class period!"

Glaring, I made my decision in a split second. "I see," I hissed, standing abruptly, snapping my fingers to make my bag pack itself. That gesture alone seemed to impress all my fellow students. And what came next was even better. "Thank you, ma'am," I told Umbridge with yet another achingly fake smile, "But I feel it's best if we both stop wasting each other's time. You can consider this my drop notice, at least until you've rethought the curriculum."

I spun on my heel and marched toward the exit.

I was nowhere near surprised when both twins got up to follow, offering cheeky salutes (_heil_s actually, which were very fitting and almost unbearably funny) before trudging after me.

The rest of the class, however, was a shock. Hearing a bit of a commotion, I turned back just inside the door and saw every other seventh-year NEWT student, individuals from every house and background, packing their belongings and leaving in my wake.

Guess I was a pretty decent leader after all. Or at least an exceptional trailblazer.

xxxxxxxxxx

Mwahaha. Stupid Umbridge. Anyways, more to come eventually. Hopefully soonish. And you should know by now how I feel about reviews ;)


	27. Clothing Optional

Part 27 – Clothing Optional

On my first Friday back to school, I ate an early dinner with Cho. Afterward, I had plans to return home for at least a day. Visit the old man. We'd kept in touch fairly constantly over our mirrors, but after having each other available in person twenty-four/seven all summer, the transition back was proving difficult. I couldn't wait to fling myself into his arms.

"That awful Umbridge woman has been glaring at you the entire meal," Cho reported worriedly.

Glancing up at the staff table confirmed the observation. The bulbous toad looked like she was trying to catch my head on fire with just the heat in her beady stare. Possibly with more than that; I wouldn't put it past her.

But I probably had more magic in my little finger than she did in her whole treacherous body, so there was no need to worry. I smiled sweetly at her and gave a little wave, laughing internally when her pudgy face flushed an even more vivid red. "It's nothing," I told Cho, "She's just pissed at me because I accidentally got her whole seventh-year NEWT class to quit today."

Cho choked a bit, already grinning as she gasped, "_What_?"

"It was surprisingly easy, actually," I muttered with a shrug, "I don't know if that says something about her teaching or my leadership, but there you go."

My companion descended into a rather uncharacteristic fit of giggles, ducking down in her seat when she realized that she was attracting attention.

I just smiled, glad to have made her laugh. She'd been crying a lot again, ongoing mourning made worse by hormones and mood swings. And the way everyone twittered about her in the hallways certainly wasn't helping. At least all her blood tests had turned out entirely normal; I just had to get to work perfecting the rest of the pre-natal charms and diagnostics she would need. So far, everything I'd practiced on Marigold had seemed to go over just fine, but I wanted to be absolutely sure. And I was maybe planning on another field trip to Mungo's over the weekend to check my work.

"Miss Black," I heard as McGonogall appeared behind me. The old woman had a fond smile playing over her weathered features. "The headmaster would like a word with you," she said, "Please proceed to his office at once."

"At once?" I whined playfully, "Come on, Professor. Whatever it is can't be more important than a well-balanced dinner! I'm a growing girl!"

McGonogall seemed to forget herself for a moment and laughed helplessly. Of course, that didn't last too long; she glanced guiltily toward the staff table, where Umbridge's glare had turned slightly rabid. Smirking at my smug smirk, McGonogall declared, "Make yourself a to-go plate, Miss Black."

xxXxx

"I didn't realize that my personal scheduling would turn into such an incident," I declared, balancing a hearty dinner on my lap as Dumbledore twinkled his eyes at me.

The white-haired wizard's expression was flat and bland, but I thought I could see a small glimmer of amusement in it. His quiet voice, too, betrayed a grudging delight in my actions. "I'm sure you didn't," he agreed, "But the fact still remains that Hogwarts no longer has a seventh-year Defense class. What do you propose we do about this problem?"

Shrugging, sipping pumpkin juice, I declared, "Well, I'm certainly not going to waste my time with that woman. I'm more than capable of teaching myself everything I'll need for the NEWTs. And I don't see what you expect me to do about the rest of the class. They all followed me on their own."

"You underestimate your powers of persuasion," Dumbledore pointed out, "They followed you with no prompting whatsoever. It stands to reason that if you returned to the class, then they would as well."

"But then we have the problem of my returning to that useless class," I answered, taking another bite of my dinner, "What kind of professor refuses to answer questions? Honestly, it's just ridiculous! I could deal with being taught nothing but theory, but she flat-out told me that we would only be allowed to learn what she thought was _appropriate_ for us to know! She's a fucking fascist!"

By then used to my colorful outbursts of profanity, Dumbledore barely blinked. "You know," he began, elegant fingers tented thoughtfully in front of his wrinkled mouth, "I used to teach Defense. I would be more than happy to set aside some time every week to answer any questions that might arise in the course of Professor Umbridge's... minimalist lessons."

Raising a speculative eyebrow, I challenged, "This isn't like when you made me look at inkblots and tell you about my mother, is it?"

Dumbledore actually chuckled. "No, my dear," he promised, "It is not. I just understand that your natural intellectual curiosity won't be fulfilled in that woman's company, so I'm offering to do so myself. If you and your fellow students will rejoin her class, that is."

"Fine," I sighed, trying not to let on my excitement. Dumbledore was legendary for a reason (and it certainly wasn't that ridiculous beard). No matter what I thought of the man personally or how much I disagreed with most of his policies, a weekly chance to pick his brain was actually kind of priceless. "But I'm not taking any shit off her," I warned, "My mouth is staying shut unless she tries to start something with me or anyone else in there, and then I won't hold back even for a second."

"That sounds fair," the headmaster agreed. He spared me another brief smile before continuing, "I will speak to Professor Umbridge and would appreciate if you would speak to your classmates."

"When I get back," I declared, shoveling the rest of my dinner and gulping my juice, "I'm supposed to go home this weekend... you mind if I use your floo since I'm up here anyways?"

"Feel free, Miss Black," said Dumbledore, banishing my empty dishes, "Thank you for helping me to resolve this situation as amicably as possible."

I grinned, "You're welcome, sir."

xxXxx

I flooed to the Burrow, where Bill met me and apparated us both to Grimmauld. Once again, Dad was waiting on the front steps and caught me neatly when I hurled myself into his arms. "Miss me?" I giggled brightly, pecking him on the cheek.

He laughed, "Only every second, love. How was school?"

"Interesting," I answered, "I accidentally got the whole Defense class to walk out today."

Dad flashed an absolutely wicked grin, beaming, "Ah, carrying on my mayhem. Good girl."

It was just us that night. Dad had trashed the kitchen making spaghetti sandwiches, and since he was so proud of himself, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd already eaten. So we dined by the fire, snuggled up and chatting idly. I told him more about my week (even though I'd already filled him in on most over it over the mirror). He complained about being cooped up in the house, about Kreacher and Snape and Dumbledore and Pettigrew and Voldemort and Mrs. Weasley (in no specific order).

We didn't fall asleep until well past midnight, simply becoming too tired to go on talking and drifting off on the couch. In the morning, I made French toast while Dad read the paper aloud... the whole experience was very... domestic.

We spent the day together, mostly just hanging out in the backyard. Dad helped me with my Animagus transfiguration because he wanted me to accomplish it before Fred managed to. I was... canine. We were pretty sure of that at least. But my facial features seemed too wolfish to belong to a dog, while my body was shrinking a little too small to belong a wolf. Either way, I was covered in gray-gold fur and had bright gray-blue eyes.

I didn't fully transform that day, but I got very close, close enough to get a good look at my reflection in a window. It was only a brief glance, but it was enough for me to figure out my form.

"I think I'm a coyote," I panted, surprised and a bit winded by the effort of the change, "I saw some once in the States when Remus and I were on holiday. They're like little prairie wolves."

"Coyote, huh?" Dad replied, giving his stubbly chin a puzzled scratch, "That's a new one..."

Grinning, sprawled in the grass, I reported, "In mythology, coyotes are tricksters... you know, ravens are, too..." I thought for a moment and then giggled brightly. "I think I just figured out Fred's form," I said.

Dad pouted as he sat down beside me but graciously inquired, "Ya? What's that?"

"A fox," I gushed, "He has to be. The raven, the coyote, and the fox are three of the main trickster characters in different mythologies all over the world. It suits us perfectly."

Despite the subject having to do with my boyfriend, Dad actually laughed. He tugged me against his side and questioned, "How'd you get to be so damn smart, baby girl?"

"Damn good genes," I snickered.

xxXxx

Dad and I shared an early dinner, and then I had an appointment with Dr. Fairchild. There was nothing really unusual or especially traumatic about the session. Afterward, I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts but instead headed over to St. Mungo's and crashed the nightly rounds of the Maternity/Neo-Natal ward.

I was actually very shocked at just how easy it was to insert myself into the crowd of interns. The healer in charge of the Saturday night rounds was old and frazzled and didn't seem like she had much regard for her handful of students. She barely looked up at all as she stalked between the rooms, firing off questions and snapping at whoever answered wrong. Her name was Jacinta Jernigan, but I'm pretty sure she didn't know any of ours.

"You there, in the back, blonde girl," Healer Jernigan called, waving in my general direction as she jotted furiously on her hovering clipboard.

"It's Norris, ma'am," I spoke up, "Charlotte Norris."

What can I say? I love a good alias.

Jernigan didn't even glance at me, impatiently snapping, "Present this patient."

I'd luckily stolen a copy of the charts when helping myself to the lime green trainee robes. "Twenty-five-year-old female, thirty-five weeks pregnant with no known complications," I recited, trying to smile reassuringly at the terrified brunette and her panicky husband, "Patient arrived complaining of intense abdominal pain and light vaginal bleeding. Diagnostic spells revealed no fetal distress, but the amniotic sac soon ruptured, and the patient went into active pre-term labor. She is experiencing contractions every seven minutes. No internal visualizations have yet been performed, but vitals-monitoring spells are in place and reading within normal range for both mother and fetus."

"Excellent," Healer Jernigan said. She didn't bother to look up before adding, "Have you successfully performed an internal visualization scan on the puffskeins?"

"Yes, ma'am, several," I said. I had; it was a weird little spell, kind of a half-disillusionment that made certain parts of the body transparent so that you could get a good look at the ones you were concerned with. I knew for certain that Marigold was having a dozen pups, that they all appeared healthy and active despite the fact that the number was nearly twice what puffskeins normally carry...

"Very good," chimed the healer, still not looking up, "Perform one on this patient and tell us your findings."

If there was ever a moment when the con was too much for me, when I might've just admitted that I was in over my head and ran, it was that one.

But I was reasonably confident in my abilities. And the whole point of my vastly illegal impersonation was to learn under a healer's supervision, after all. Even though Jernigan didn't _seem_ to be watching very closely, she had to be paying at least some attention. She would at least stop me from doing any harm. Hopefully.

So I performed the spell, waving a careful, distinct pattern over the woman's large belly and reciting the incantation under my breath.

I knew Jernigan wasn't paying any attention at all when she didn't immediately react to what I'd revealed. "Ma'am," I called insistently, trying not to outwardly panic, "Scan reveals that the patient is seven centimeters dilated and that the fetus presents with nuchal cord."

(For those of you not familiar with the medical jargon, that means that the little tyke had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck; it could be quite dangerous.)

That finally got Jernigan to tear herself away from the clipboard, the skinny dark witch surveying the trembling woman's transparent midsection with (in my opinion) a rather disinterested calm. "And what course of treatment do you recommend for such unfavorable placement?" Jernigan asked flatly, her beady gaze boring into mine from behind her thick square glasses.

I decided that I liked her better when she wasn't looking up from the clipboard.

"Um..." I momentarily stuttered, frantically recalling what I'd read on the subject, "Nuchal cord should, if possible, be unlooped from the fetuses neck using a very light object-movement spell, taking care not to knot the cord in the process of removal. If not possible, fetal heartbeat should be monitored closely, and the fetus should be immediately delivered at the first sign of distress."

Jernigan stared at me for a few long moments before finally stating, "Correct." She turned to address the handful of other trainees and instructed, "Observe." With a sharp flick of her wand, the cord slowly unlooped from the baby's neck.

I felt like I could finally breathe again.

"Well spotted, trainee," she told me, already going back to her clipboard, "I would like you to stay to monitor this patient."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shakily.

xxXxx

Aside from that little scare, the rest of my first stolen shift went rather well. I stayed with the same patient the whole night, chatting with her and her husband. Moira and Leonard McKay were a really nice couple, first time parents. I kept them calm and even got them laughing in the few hours before I assisted with the delivery of their son.

Childbirth was one of the grossest, scariest, and most amazing things I'd ever witnessed. I was the first person to hold little Duncan Leonard McKay after the healer handed him off, and I got to give the shrieking pink creature to his sobbing, glowing mother.

By the time I returned to Hogwarts that Sunday afternoon, I'd been up for over twenty-four hours straight but couldn't have slept if I tried; I had enough adrenaline coursing through my body to put daredevils and air-traffic controllers to shame.

I went up to the Tower in search of the twins; since it was such a nice day out, the common room was practically deserted besides Harry and his two cohorts, and I made sure to wink at them before skipping brazenly up the boys' staircase. Fred was the only person left in his dorm, napping shirtlessly and drooling onto his pillow.

"Freddie," I cooed, biting lightly at his earlobe as I stretched out beside him, "Time to wake up that stunning arse up and entertain your girlfriend."

He snuffled and blinked slowly awake, smiling when he saw me but wincing when he tried to give a more proper greeting.

Instantly concerned, I sat up a bit and looked him over, inquiring, "You alright, love?"

"Fine," he murmured, unable to move his head without a twinge of pain, "Quidditch practice was a bit rough yesterday, and I tweaked my back. Nothing serious. Just a little sore."

"I'm sorry," I said, smoothing back his messy fringe and pressing a kiss to his forehead, "I wouldn't have woken you if I knew you were hurt... where's your Potions kit?"

"Dunno," Fred yawned, clearly still quite muzzy, "Why?"

Searching for the case and quickly finding it stashed under his bed, I replied, "Because I want to make you feel better." I dug through the disorderly jars and vials for a few moments before locating a container of dried comfrey leaves. A quick spell rendered them into a warm, oily paste.

I straddled Fred's lower back, careful to keep my weight off him as I spread the paste and kneaded it in, starting with his broad shoulders and working down.

It wasn't long before Fred was moaning rather obscenely beneath me. "You're amazing," he insisted, groaning when I made a large knot beside his spine suddenly relax.

I just laughed and pecked him on the cheek, enjoying the chance to heal someone I loved so dearly... and the chance to take my time admiring his muscular, freckled back. He really was a perfect specimen...

Mmm...

Oh. Right. Sorry. Fred can be quite distracting at times (and in so many ways).

Anyhow, the impromptu massage continued for awhile, maybe twenty minutes to a half hour until my arms got tired and I stopped. Fred had, at some point, zonked out again, and I doubt a banshee could've woken him. He was so... angelic when he was asleep. And I know most people might laugh at me for calling either of the infamous Weasley twins angelic, but... well... screw them. Fred was absolutely adorable.

I gave him another kiss, left a note to call me over the mirrors when he woke, and then skipped off to find something else to do.

Harry and crew were still in the common room, and I flopped down between him and Ron and chirped, "What's new, my chickadees?"

They all looked at me strangely for a few moments before Harry declared, "We're just, uh, doing some homework... going to talk to Snuffles later, if you're interested."

"Thanks, but that's not necessary," I answered, ruffling his messy hair, "I have my own way of talking to him... by the way, if he asks, I was here last night."

Again, a round of strange looks before Harry hesitantly asked the obvious question: "Where were you last night if you weren't here?"

"At the corner of Out and About," I reported slyly, "Attending to matters of great import and the highest level of secrecy."

Hermione giggled while Ron complained, "A simple _nowhere_ would've sufficed."

I snickered, "Yes, but I do love making the extra effort... are you all really going to spend this _beautiful _afternoon doing homework?"

They shrugged.

"What a shame," I declared, shaking my head, "Kids these days, letting a perfectly sunny weekend go to waste."

"We have to do homework sometime," Hermione argued primly.

"And what's wrong with five minutes before class starts?" I teased with a bright, impish grin.

Even though Hermione absolutely didn't joke about such things, she at least managed not to appear _too_ scandalized at the very suggestion. She didn't scold me about setting a better example, either.

They were working rather hard, so I didn't stay and harass them. Well, I stayed a little longer; Ron needed some teasing, but after that I had Harry let me peek at the Marauder's Map, located George (near the front doors), and then set off to pester him.

I never got that far.

I turned the corner onto the fourth-floor landing and found myself face-to-face with Angelina Johnson. We hadn't had much interaction over the years, but, as far as I knew, she'd never been a part of the evil gossip mill, either. Angelina was independent. She was popular but seemed... above most of the ridiculous crap everyone else did. I'd heard people call her stuck up, but it's more likely that she was just too intelligent to enjoy or to seek out interaction with a majority of the painfully average (or below) Hogwarts population.

"Hi, Angelina," I greeted brightly, adding a peppy little wave.

She regarded me skeptically but still replied, "Hello." She was my height but not quite as slim. And I don't mean that as anything bad; I'd had problems with being underweight, and Angelina was a very healthy, substantial girl. She was... well-proportioned and athletic... Merlin, why is that still coming off as disparaging? I guess all I'm really trying to say is that, while we were both quite tall and fit, she had quite a few pounds of pure muscle over me.

Anyways, since the girl didn't flee in obvious terror, I decided to engage in conversation, inquiring, "How's your weekend been?"

"Alright," she answered with an exasperated sigh, "Though quidditch practice was a bit dreadful."

"I heard," I said, "Fred's got a sore back, but I put some comfrey on it for him, so he should be fine."

Angelina nodded, vaguely impressed. "Thanks," she declared, "I need all my players in top condition if we're going to win the Cup this year."

(Another criticism I'd heard of Angelina was that she was an impossible perfectionist; again, I wasn't sure if that was true or if it only came off that way because the majority of the Hogwarts population was so distressingly mediocre (not to mention quite lazy).)

Laughing, I playfully announced, "Well, I'm certainly happy to do my part in securing your victory."

That got a slight, almost reluctant smirk out of the dark girl. "Glad to hear it," she chuckled, "Well, I've got some plays to go over. See you."

"Bye!" I chimed, feeling quite pleased with myself as I continued on my quest to find George.

I was sidetracked yet again when I walked down a shortcut tunnel and turned a corner and encountered the rather distinct sounds of (at the very least) snogging. I really didn't want to be getting people in trouble but felt that it was my duty to at least warn them to take their love somewhere a little more private... and to give a safe-sex speech. Clearly Hogwarts's policy of completely ignoring sex education wasn't working out too well for its students, and I certainly didn't want to have to deal with anymore unplanned teenage pregnancies.

However, I poked my head into the dark little alcove and was surprised to discover that it was two older boys groping heatedly against the crumbling stone wall. I immediately recognized the one who was pinned as seventh-year Hufflepuff Joshua Lerner. He'd been one of Cedric's best friends, and although we were on fairly amicable terms, I'd had no idea that he was gay.

Of course, that discovery was nowhere near as shocking as the one that came next: not yet noticing my presence, Joshua and his partner continued with their frantic face-sucking, excitedly tugging at each other's clothing as they grappled for dominance, and I finally saw who the other teen was.

"Pucey?" I gasped before I could stop myself.

He pulled away so fast that he bit Joshua's lip.

"OW!" Joshua exclaimed grumpily, the sandy-haired Hufflepuff reaching up to nurse the stinging spot, "Watch it!"

Pucey probably didn't even hear; he was too busy gaping at me.

Joshua glanced around him and, unconcerned, grinned and declared, "Oh. Hey, Stel."

"Hey, Josh," I answered. Doing my best not to stare (or giggle) at Pucey's furious blush, I teasingly scolded, "As prefects, you should know better than to snog out here where anyone can catch you. If you want to makeout with your boyfriend, then go use Umbridge's office like the rest of us."

"I'm _not_ his boyfriend!" Pucey shouted, breaking out of his shocked trance. He was red-faced, his usually slicked-back black hair mussed tellingly.

Joshua looked hurt but didn't say anything, not even when Pucey shoved him rather roughly and then shoved me rather roughly and fled with very little dignity.

xxXxx

Joshua filled me in over a private lunch in my common room:

He and Pucey were both pure-blooded and had known each other since they were kids. Joshua's family wasn't quite as well off or prejudiced, but his parents owned a small apothecary and apparently bought stock from the Puceys' company from time to time. Joshua and Adrian used to play while their parents were discussing business, but the two boys hadn't had much (if any) interaction since starting at Hogwarts.

They'd met up again over the summer by complete chance, both choosing a scorching Saturday to wander the streets of London. Joshua was still reeling from Cedric's death; Pucey had just told his father, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way in hell he would be joining up with the Dark Lord and had been disowned accordingly. Joshua and Pucey shared hesitant smiles at a street corner; they got coffee; they saw a movie; Joshua invited Pucey home for dinner; Joshua's parents invited Pucey to stay with them since he had nowhere else to go.

Joshua had known that he was gay since he was fifteen, and although he'd never made it a secret, he'd also never been terribly comfortable broadcasting to people he didn't know. He just didn't want to be "that gay kid" and nothing else.

Pucey had known he was gay for much longer and had done everything in his power to hide that fact from everyone, especially himself.

It certainly shed a new light on all the lovely sexual harassment he'd treated me to over the years.

Anyways, Pucey and Joshua bonded over the summer, especially after most of the rest of Pucey's friends cast him aside as easily as his parents had. The two young men been tentatively, very secretly involved since Joshua had kissed Pucey a few days before the start of term.

"Though he might never speak to me again now," the slender Hufflepuff boy sighed, "Having _anyone_ find out is pretty much his worst nightmare."

"At least it was just me who saw," I soothed, smirking, "I am militantly anti-gossip. And I'm also excellent at keeping secrets."

Joshua smiled shyly, murmuring, "Thanks. I... I know he was awful to you. Anyone else would probably seize the opportunity for revenge."

I shrugged. "Just trying to put the past behind me," I claimed.

"Ya," agreed Joshua, "Aren't we all."

xxXxx

Pucey avoided me like the plague for a whole week. But that part of the story is going to have to wait a bit. He and his issues completely fled my mind once Monday morning came around, once I finally made it back to the Gryffindor table after talking all the seventh-years back into Defense... which I absolutely wouldn't have done if I knew what was waiting in the paper.

"High Inquisitor?" I gaped, not wanting to actually touch the Prophet to confirm the story for myself but not quite willing to believe such nonsense without concrete proof either, "They made that awful woman _High Inquisitor?_ What the hell does that even _mean?_ Are they trying to murder us all with bureaucracy and passive-aggressiveness and and buckets of congested flab?"

"You might want to keep your voice down," Joshua whispered, throwing anxious glances up toward the staff table where the squat little toad sat smugly surveying us all.

"I will _not_ keep my bloody voice down!" I raged a bit loudly, "If that self-righteous tub of goo thinks for one second she's going to get away with this nonsense-"

Fred (probably wisely, though don't tell him that) clapped his hand down firmly over my mouth to silence the rest of the tirade. With a slightly guilty smirk, he pecked my forehead and warned, "You're no good to anyone if you get kicked out for insulting the _High Inquisitor_, love."

"Like she'd dare!" I replied. Except he wouldn't release my mouth, so it came out more like, "Mmm mm'm mm!"

"Don't worry too much," George instructed, not bothering to stop shoveling eggs into his mouth, "Long as Dumbledore's around, Umbridge is more of an annoyance than a threat."

xxXxx

George was wrong.

Umbridge started "inspecting" classes, and one of her first just happened to be mine, that very day. I could've fucking screamed when she showed up at Charms that afternoon, lurking in the back corner and scribbling notes.

I came very close to hexing the bitch when she saw fit to point out that my left-handed wand technique was entirely improper.

"Like it's the bloody Dark Ages!" I ranted, incensed that someone so ignorant and narrow-minded could've ever been allowed to be a teacher, "Like the left hand is the _evil hand_! Fucking _COW_!"

"You seem stressed, love," Fred observed playfully as we pushed our way through the crowded hallways.

I shot him an apparently menacing glare.

Giving a nervous chuckle, my boyfriend tugged me tighter against his side and offered, "Would it help if I said that I was planning a romantic evening for us?"

I smiled reluctantly, slipping a hand into his back pocket as I answered, "Maybe. What would this romantic evening entail?"

"Oh, the usual," Fred murmured, turning his attention to nuzzling my neck in a highly distracting manner, "Intimate setting, sensual foods, my sparkling wit. Clothing optional, of course."

"Of course," I giggled. Just like that, my mood changed for the better. Merlin, Fred was an awesome boyfriend. And more than that, he was just an awesome friend.

I sat through the rest of the afternoon very much looking forward to dinner and other things with my favorite ginger, exchanging teasing notes with him during Care of Magical Creatures. George kept rolling his eyes but seemed resigned to the behavior. And he really was happy for us, even if he did complain a lot.

After class I did a bit of studying in the library and ended up helping some of the first years with their assignments. The twins had gone off with Lee to attend to some joke shop business, but a few hours later, when one of my parchments suddenly began to fold itself into an elegant rose, I knew that Fred had to be responsible. And nearby.

Sure enough, he soon stepped out from behind some bookshelves and greeted me in a way that made all the little girls present giggle and coo and the little boys pout and blush. Fred swept me away from the stuffy drudgery of the library and into the Room of Requirement, which had been decked out in full romantic splendor: a small table held a rather fancy-looking dinner while the only light came from the soft glow of the many colorful candles floating throughout the cozy, inviting space.

"M'lady," my boyfriend declared as he gallantly held out my chair.

I beamed at him as I sat, remarking, "Thank you, kind sir."

We dined and chatted. Nothing too exciting. Afterward, we curled up on a convenient sofa and snogged in the time-honored tradition of the scores of horny teenagers to come before us. Certain oral favors were exchanged, followed by short, sated naps.

"Stel," I heard as I drifted slowly back into consciousness, "Stel, wake up, love."

I groaned and snuggled against Fred's solid chest, pleading, "Mmm. Five more minutes."

His chuckle was warm and rich, his fingers nimbly drawing shapes at the small of my back. "Much as I'm enjoying this," said Fred, "It's nearly midnight, and I think we'll be more comfortable in our beds."

"Uh huh," I agreed half-heartedly, not making any effort to move.

Fred laughed again, prompting, "You need your rest if you want to be in top form against Umbridge."

Yawning, I replied, "True. That woman does get rather exhausting." A thought occurred to me, and I did not hesitate to voice it. "You can come back with me, if you want," I offered.

"Course I'll walk you," Fred answered, looking around the room for our hastily discarded clothing, "Not only is it the gentlemanly thing to do, but it's also the only way to be certain that you don't end up in the hospital wing again. Pomfrey actually keeps a cot reserved for you, my accident-prone darling."

"She does not," I insisted, pretty sure he was joking but unable to be certain, "And that's not what I meant." At his blank look, I rolled my eyes and clarified, "I think we should go back to my room, _together_, and have some raunchy sex."

There was a brief moment of gaping shock. "Really?" the young man finally questioned, way too excited to even try to hide his excitement, "You're sure?"

I paid some attention to the scores of delicious freckles spattered across his chest, murmuring, "Ya. I was pretty much just waiting until we weren't living in Grimmauld anymore. And besides, it's about time I deflowered you properly, Mr. Weasley."

"Sounds good to me," he eagerly agreed, wasting no time scooping me up off the couch and bolting toward the exit.

I had to slap him in the head, lightly scolding, "I thought we had an understanding about not dragging me into public places without my top."

Fred blinked like he was coming out of a drugged fog. "Right," he grunted, very reluctantly setting me down.

xxXxx

Getting dressed with Fred bouncing around like a hyperactive puppy was distracting but endearing, as was his insistent fidgeting and groping while we made our way to my suite. By the time we actually got there, the mood had more than been set, and we were both probably slightly past rational with lust and anticipation.

"Mmm, Fred... Fred," I laughed breathlessly against his mouth as we staggered along the hallway hanging off each other, "Fred. I have to- OH! I have to... to... ooo ... to unpin my badge."

Not bothering to halt the hands roaming beneath my skirt, grinding his hardness against my hip, Fred nipped my collarbone and mumbled, "Don' let me stop you, love."

With a breathless huff, I replied, "I can't-" (now, I meant to say 'I can't reach it when you're smooshed up against me like that.' Instead...) "I can't _think_ when you're doing that."

Fred chuckled, low and husky. Quite smug. "A promising start," he murmured, "But I think I want you incoherent before the night is through."

His gruff promise sent a very pleasant shiver down my spine, and I barely had the coordination to fumble my badge off my shirt as we stumbled closer to the enchanted tree statue.

Had we been paying more attention to our surroundings and less to each other, we probably wouldn't have tripped over poor little Quentin Raeburn.

The boy had been there awhile, having curled up and fallen asleep waiting for me. He flailed awake with a loud snort as my heel caught him in the gut, as the harried momentum of my boyfriend and I brought us both crashing down on top of the small lad.

"Ooof!" I grunted, getting the wind knocked from my lungs as my back and head hit the floor and Fred landed on my stomach. It was painful and quite startling, but I was able to sit up after just a few moments, dizzily rub the knot on my skull, piece together what happened, and groan, "Ow."

"Sorry," Quentin stammered weakly, cradling his right hand against his chest, "I didn't mean... I just... you weren't answering, and I really needed... are you alright?"

Forcing a comforting smile, straightening my clothing lest I give the lad an eyeful to go with his assorted bruises, I replied, "Don't worry, kiddo. I've done worse to myself. Now what are you doing here at this hour?" I saw that the hand he was cradling had a bandage wrapped sloppily around it and inquired, "Are you hurt? Is someone picking on you again?"

Quentin sniffled, dark eyes wet and sandy hair in disarray. "I had... detention..." he admitted softly.

xxXxx

I was so mad I could barely see straight and did not wait until morning to barge into Dumbledore's office. I snatched some gaudy trinket off his desk and promptly smashed it against the wall.

The headmaster barely looked up from his papers, arching a bristly eyebrow at me and then going back to writing, blandly inquiring, "Something on your mind, my dear?"

"Did you know about the detentions?" I demanded, past furious, "Did you know what that _hag_ has been doing to the children in _your_ school?"

Sighing, Dumbledore replied, "I was made aware."

I'd had my suspicions, but actually hearing them confirmed... well... the trinkets on the headmaster's desk were going to go extinct at the rate I was destroying them.

(Sometimes, I was sure that Dumbledore kept the stupid little toys there just so the people who came in to yell at him had some way of blowing off steam that didn't involve direct assault on the man and his ridiculous beard.)

"You were _made aware_?" I snarled, "And you allowed that _monster_ to go on _carving into students' flesh_? What the hell is wrong with you?" Thinking again on the words that Umbridge's demented quill had sliced into the back of Quentin's right hand—_I must not ask silly questions_—I couldn't help feeling my blood boil and my stomach sour. How anyone could do that to a sweet little boy—or for that matter, how anyone could know it was happening and allow it to continue—was completely beyond my understanding.

"I've had other matters on my mind recently," the old man answered, fixing me with a blank yet impatient gaze, "As have you, I'm sure. How is Miss Chang faring? I can't imagine her _condition_ is easy to deal with for either of you."

I stepped back like I'd been slapped. Of course Dumbledore knew about Cho's pregnancy. Almost nothing went on without his knowing. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, playing dumb just because it seemed like the thing to do.

"The great loss she suffered," he stated coyly, "I've heard you've been a tremendous source of support for the unfortunate girl. It would be a shame if, by making an issue of Professor Umbridge's disciplinary tactics, you made yourself a target of the Ministry power behind her and were declared ineligible to remain here at Hogwarts."

"Don't threaten me, you rotten bastard," I hissed, absolutely refusing to be blackmailed or intimidated, "Bigger arseholes have tried and failed to shut me up, and if you think for one blasted second that I'm going to let this drop, then you've got another thing coming! I'll take you _and_ that flabby bitch down if I have to!"

He sighed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not that I approve of what she's doing," admitted the headmaster, "I just have to pick my battles. Do you understand?"

I shook my head, leaning across his desk and bellowing, "Rationalize however you want, old man. The bottom line is that everything about this is _wrong_."

Very softly, very tiredly, he conceded, "I don't dispute that, my dear."

"Then fight back!" I roared, pounding so hard on his desk that another trinket took a dive onto the floor, "Show some backbone, for fuck's sake! I'm willing to stand between her and every soul in this school! That's what you gave me this bloody asinine job for, isn't it? So I'd hoped you would at least stand with me!"

For the first time looking a bit shamed, Dumbledore murmured, "I know you feel strongly about this issue-"

"Well, I didn't leave my boyfriend with blue balls because I was _happy_ about tripping over a mangled second year!" I interrupted harshly.

"Nevertheless," the white-haired wizard continued, actually blushing a bit at my overshare, "I can't stand with you. I'm truly sorry, Miss Black."

Disgusted, I backed away from his desk and spat, "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Quentin Raeburn and all the others who are going to be carrying that woman's scars for the rest of their lives. Guess they'll be a testament to your _impotence_ as well as her _sadism_. Congratulations, sir. That's quite the legacy."

With that, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the room.

xxXxx

I was so mad I could barely see _or _think straight, and that's not even hyperbole. My fury burned so hot and so strong that, no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't come up with a way of stopping Umbridge that didn't involve her death and/or my incarceration.

I was less than rational and apparently not a joy to be around for the next few days. I yelled and Ron and Harry about... something. I can't even remember what. I even snapped at Fred over his entirely unsubtle attempts at getting that raunchy sex he'd been promised. George kept trying to slip me Calming Draughts. By the time the weekend came around, I think everyone was glad that I would be spending it at Grimmauld. We'd only been through two weeks of school so far, but it felt like a lifetime. I felt utterly exhausted by the weight on my shoulders, constantly sickened by seeing more kids walking around with their hands bandaged.

I went home early, skipping Defense because I didn't trust myself to be in the same room as Umbridge without hexing her into another dimension. When I finally arrived at Grimmauld and caught sight of my dad sitting on the front stoop waiting for me, when he grinned and waved, it wasn't too much of a surprise that the whole situation caught up all at once; I threw myself into his arms and burst into tears.

"Oh, baby girl," he soothed, holding me tight, petting my hair and pressing comforting kisses onto my forehead, "Shh. Shhh. It's alright. Everything's alright. Just take a deep breath, ok? Breathe, and tell me what's wrong."

"I hate her," I hiccupped, "I hate her, and I wish she were dead!"

Since I'd spent a lot of time venting to my dad over our two-way mirrors, he knew instantly to whom I referred. "I hate her, too, baby," he agreed, mostly carrying me inside the house.

"She's been smirking at me all week," I sniffled, calming down quickly but still quite upset, "The fucking _bitch_ knows that I know and that I can't stop her. I would've snapped her damn neck if she actually had one. No one wants to do anything about this! I tried the Ministry _and_ the Prophet! I even tried to get letters sent out to the parents, but that odious little toad and that bloody useless old man said Heads aren't _allowed _to use the mass mailing list! And most of the kids are so scared that they won't do it themselves! The rest just don't think that anyone will believe them!"

Dad sat us both down on a squashy sofa. "Relax, love," he said, "We'll figure everything out. There hasn't been a professor yet who can stand against the might of a pissed-off Marauder, and that includes our demon spawn."

Laughing half-heartedly, I snuggled into his embrace and murmured, "How could she do something like this and just get away with it? Why is the world filled with such awful, evil people?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that one, love," Dad replied, tucking a stray shock of blonde behind my ear, "All you can do is be your best and deal with the arseholes as they come."

I was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Finally, I snickered, "You think Uncle Remus would be upset if I set her on fire?"

"Definitely," answered Dad, "Basically, my system is that if the idea makes me giggle, then Moony will get upset."

Nodding, I agreed, "He grounded me once when I was little for sitting in my room giggling to myself. He said it sounded like I was about to do something very bad."

"And were you?"

"Oh, of course."

"That's my girl."

xxXxx

My second weekend home passed much the same as the first, just with a lot more scheming during the meals and Animagus practice and hanging out on the couch. Saturday night was another short, uneventful session with Dr. Fairchild, and, again, I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts but headed to St. Mungo's instead. Stealing another shift in the Maternity/Neo-Natal ward went smoothly, but the shift itself was hectic. I assisted Healer Jernigan in three births. Two healthy boys and a little girl with underdeveloped lungs. Don't worry, she was fine. I was learning a lot and feeling much more confident in my abilities. And Healer Jernigan wasn't so bad. Even though she still referred to me as Blonde Girl and barely looked up from her clipboard.

What was the point of coming up with awesome aliases if no one was even going to bother using them?

By the time I made it back to Hogwarts on Sunday afternoon, I was just about dead on my feet. I didn't want to do anything but fall into bed.

Unfortunately, Pucey was in our common room waiting.

"I'm not gay!" the young man shouted.

Startled, I almost tripped backwards up the spiral staircase, catching myself clumsily and blinking at the angry, angular face that had met me a few steps from the bottom. Though my heart was pounding, I calmly replied, "Alright."

He did not seem appeased, demanding, "Who have you told?"

"No one," I said. I thought about just pushing past the pissed-off Slytherin but didn't. Pucey was obviously freaking out, and as much as I wanted to leave him to it and sleep until Monday, I actually felt a bit bad for the poor jerk.

"You're lying!" he insisted, fists clenched and face red, "Everyone knows, don't they?"

I very slowly repeated, "I didn't tell _anyone_. Not even the twins. Though I doubt they'd care."

"I'm not gay!" he yelled again, "So there's nothing for them to care about!"

"Pucey," I sighed, "I am _exhausted_, so do you think we could just skip to the part where you come to terms with your sexuality and quit being such a cranky bastard and live happily ever after with Josh and a handful of adorable adopted babies?"

The look he gave me probably would've had a lesser person pissing her pants.

I just sighed again, grumbling, "Ya, guess I'm not that lucky... look, can we at least go sit down? Conversations on staircases are so awkward."

"There's nothing more to talk about!" Pucey fired back, "I'm not gay, and you're not going to tell anyone that I am! Or else!"

"You know," I yawned, "I bet gay sex is a lot more fun than all this repression and denial."

He flushed a half dozen shades of purple in seconds, shaking with fury. He then spun around and went stomping back to his room, kicking a chair on the way and slamming the door when he got there.

I crawled into bed and slept until Monday.

xxXxx

Short of putting a wooden stake through her shriveled heart, I hadn't managed to come up with a permanent solution for the Umbridge problem. I had a lot of vengeance in mind, but nothing that would prevent her from handing out those evil quills during her detentions.

It was a busy week, with classes and studying and Head Girl duties and girlfriend duties and Pucey's issues and Cho's issues and just issues in general. But the Umbridge situation was still almost constantly on my mind (constantly making me cranky and not very amorous), and I finally decided on a course of action late Thursday night while patrolling with Joshua.

"I'm torn between using her gigantic arse as a dartboard and just screaming obscenities at the skank," I declared thoughtfully, "But I guess I still have until tomorrow afternoon to choose."

Joshua laughed and answered, "Both highly amusing options, but what exactly do you hope to accomplish with either?"

"Well," I explained, "I assume that such behavior will earn me a detention. When she tries to get me to use one of those quills, I will snap the blasted thing in half, thereby setting an example that the rest of the school will follow. I mean, I got the Defense class to walk out without even trying, so how hard could it be to persuade people _not_ to slice words into their own hands?"

Nodding hesitantly, Joshua muttered, "That... actually could work."

With a grin, I replied, "Fingers crossed, mate, but I'm hopeful. Everyone is so scared of her just because she works for the Ministry, but Umbridge is only another pathetic bully with more delusions than actual power. The spineless hag will crumble at the first sign of resistance."

I was so sure of that, too.

Anyways, we finished the dungeons with more talk of my plot and then changed subjects to Pucey as we moved to the upper levels. My sexually confused co-Head still wasn't speaking to Joshua, avoiding the Hufflepuff's every attempt at even being in the same room. Josh was bummed; he really liked Pucey for some ridiculous reason, but, as the saying goes, the heart wants what it wants.

We were on the third floor when a shrill scream pierced the late silence. Joshua and I sprinted toward its source, tearing all the way to the fifth floor landing just in time to catch a soaked, towel-wrapped girl before she could tumble down the stairs. She wouldn't stop shrieking and yanking at her hair long enough for me to discover her identity or the cause of her distress... but then I noticed that her long blonde hair was actually falling out in handfuls, her skin beginning to sizzle like bacon, and I figured that that might have something to do with the fit.

xxXxx

It was someone's idea of a joke: spiking the taps in the prefects' bathroom with a hair removal potion that had been featured in the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. Though we never did figure out the culprit, I assume it was some student looking to get back at some prefect for some reason... or maybe just all the prefects for no reason at all.

However, the password to that particular room was one of the worst-guarded secrets in all of Hogwarts, and the person who ended up caught by the trap was a third-year named Astoria Greengrass who had snuck in to enjoy a midnight bath.

"Well," Madame Pomfrey said, her voice soft to keep the distraught patient from waking, "I saved what I could of her hair, but a great deal of the potion already soaked into her scalp, and it prevents regrowth for at least a month, likely longer. She'll just have to wait for it to come back the natural way."

Looking over the fuzzy, spiky, lopsided mess left on Astoria's head, I winced and declared, "Poor little thing."

The healer corrected, "Lucky little thing. Whoever brewed that potion is either a sadist or had no idea what they were doing. It was much too strong and just about burned off her skin. If you hadn't thought to douse Miss Greengrass with clean water, she probably would've ended up permanently scarred and bald."

I gave a bitter laugh and declared, "The twins invented an emergency chemical wash spell during my second year when our prank war was at its most vicious."

Rolling her eyes, Pomfrey answered, "Merlin, I remember that. You were in here belting opera for an entire week."

Ah, memories.

Pomfrey kept Astoria until lunch. I'd been planning on going back for the girl after classes to offer some shorter hair tips and moral support, but she just appeared in the Great Hall, small and hunched and trying desperately to remain unnoticed as she hid the atrocious new style under a small wool cap.

I watched helplessly from across the room as her fifth-year sister Daphne immediately snatched the hat and all the surrounding Slytherins and even some of the nearby Ravenclaws burst into cruel laughter. Astoria looked like she was going to cry.

"Fucking hell," I grumbled, not particularly happy about what I was about to do next but already caught up in the impulse. Without a word to any of my companions, I stood and walked to the front of the Hall. No one paid much attention to me until I jumped noisily onto the staff table, scattering plates and silverware and grabbing the nearest knife.

As the students gaped and the professors blustered, I sawed my ponytail off as close to my skull as I could, shaking out my own new atrociously short style and whipping the discarded hair straight into Umbridge's soup. An unexpected bonus.

I hopped down with a smug grin, stalking past all the stunned Slytherins until I reached wide-eyed little Astoria. "Hey, trendsetter," I greeted the girl, "How about you come sit with me? I'm thinking of adding some streaks to this rocking 'do, and I'd love to get your opinion."

Astoria flapped her mouth open and closed a few times before finally stammering, "U-U-Uh... O-Ok..." She got to her feet shakily, squeaking a bit when I slung an arm around her tiny shoulders and dragged her back toward the Gryffindor brood.

Well, we were actually pretty mixed that day, with Cho, Joshua, Matthew, Quentin, Stewart, Jana, Orlando, Larkin, and Phoebe sprinkled in throughout my usual crowd of Gryffs. Apparently having heard my declaration to young Astoria, George immediately began trying to enlist us to try a new color-change charm he'd been working on. Fred made a point of telling me how hot I looked and volunteered to escort me to the nearest broom closet in order to prove it.

Such a sweet bloke.

xxXxx

I didn't get to take Fred up on his offer. I might've, too. But I was once again summoned to the headmaster's office.

"When I told you that we could have weekly meetings," he began with a vaguely bemused but more exasperated sigh, "These were not the circumstance I had in mind."

I smirked and replied, "So DIY haircuts on the staff table are frowned upon. Now I know." Before Dumbledore could answer, I interrupted, "But the streaks are awesome, right? Turns out George has a great eye for color. And the whole cut isn't half as bad as I thought it would be, considering its impromptu nature. It's got kind of a pixie-punk-flapper-girl vibe. Very chic, if I do say so myself."

For a few moments, Dumbledore just stared across at me like I was insane. He then appeared to remember that odd and insane are completely different animals and coughed quietly. "Professor Umbridge was very upset by your display during lunch," said the old man, "She seems to think that you're setting an absolutely awful example for the other students, and she's talking about having you removed by the Ministry."

"Bitch is bluffing," I declared, "She'd have to hold a public hearing to do that, and if she's actually got two brain cells to rub together, then she knows that I would most definitely use the opportunity to bring to light her _barbaric_ disciplinary methods. Still set on ignoring those, by the way?"

Instead of answering, Dumbledore checked his clock and reported, "It seems as though I've kept you through your Defense class. My apologies, Miss Black. You may go now, but please do your best to avoid any further incidents. Stay off the tables, and try not to antagonize Professor Umbridge."

I stood but turned back at the door, stating, "I did have another quick question for you, sir."

Dumbledore sighed but graciously replied, "Yes, my dear?"

With a sideways grin, I asked, "Ever think about streaking your beard? I think you'd look pretty hardcore with some black racing stripes."

Sending a glance up heavenward, he replied, "That is hardly appropriate-"

"Oh, take a joke," I cut in, "I really do have a question though. Why doesn't Hogwarts have a Sex Ed course?"

He gave me another long is-she-mad-or-just-weird stare, finally gaping, "We... um... we usually rely on parents to teach their own children in that subject."

"Well, they're obviously not doing a very good job," I argued, "If they're doing it at all. Don't you think something should be offered? Or at least don't you think all the books on the subject should be moved out of the Restricted Section? A little information goes a long way."

Obviously choosing his words carefully, the old man slowly answered, "I... will consider your suggestions, thank you... is there anything else, Miss Black? Perhaps something related to Defense?"

"Not at the moment," was my snotty reply, "I've been a bit distracted lately. It's so hard to concentrate on school work when I know that small children are being mutilated for the amusement of a bitter old toad." I only stuck around long enough to catch the flash of well-deserved hurt that passed through his eyes, chirping, "See you next week, sir."

xxXxx

Another Friday meant another trip home. Dad was pleased as always to see me but a floored by my new short hair, not to mention the shocking purple and glimmering gold that George's charm had added to it for the next forty-eight hours or so. Dad kept glancing at me strangely out of the corner of his eye, like he wasn't quite certain I was the same girl who'd been there just the week before.

An Order meeting was scheduled to take place, so there were a lot of members who I could show off to around the house. Mostly, the reactions were positive. Tonks absolutely loved the edgy style and vivid colors. Remus was skeptical but warmed up quickly after hearing my cousin's praises. I was definitely still getting the romance vibe from the pair of them, but they still weren't ready to come out with the relationship. I don't really know why they were waiting since almost everyone had already guessed. Mundungus Fletcher even had a pool going about when the first color-changing werepups would arrive.

I helped Mrs. Weasley cook but wasn't allowed in the actual meeting, instead getting banished to my room for a few hours. That was fine. Dumbledore wasn't even in attendance, so they couldn't have been discussing anything too important. And I used the time to do some Animagus practice.

Bill almost caught me at it.

Apparently, he'd been running late (attached at the lips to Fleur, no doubt) and ended up locked out of the meeting. So, instead of entering and making a spectacle of himself or going home to an empty flat and a mountain of paperwork, the redhead decided to spend some quality time with (as he put it) his favorite future-sister-in-law.

Now, I'd locked and warded my door, but since I hadn't expected a cursebreaker (or anyone who wouldn't have the courtesy to knock) to arrive on the other side of it, I hadn't gone too nuts on the security measures. Bill was through them in an instant and promptly kicked open the heavy slab of wood, trying to startle me because he was just a giant goof like that.

(Honestly, I have no idea where his reputation for being cool comes from; Bill Weasley is one of the biggest dorks I've ever know.)

I'd been sprinting laps while concentrating on keeping shape and was in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment to get nailed directly in the snout.

Thankfully, the pain and surprise were enough to shock my body back into its proper form before Bill could get himself far enough into the room to see what he'd hit. My coyote body was lithe and compact, so he'd knocked me back a good few feet with the force of the blow. I blinked back into awareness to find myself sprawled on the floor with the worried eldest Weasley boy kneeling over me.

"Oh, Merlin," he said, pressing an already blood-soaked rag against my tender nose, "I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I mean, of course you're not alright, but can you breathe still? How many fingers am I holding up?"

I squinted past the haze of blood and double vision at the man's massive mitt, guessing, "Uh... sev'n?"

Bill swore a bit, so I suppose that wasn't correct. But I couldn't care too much. My whole face felt white hot, and I was choking on the sticky iron gushing down my throat.

I was in and out of consciousness for awhile, but I remember Bill yelling for help as he waved off some healing spells, which didn't do very much good but certainly stung like a bitch. He'd never been too handy with them, he told me later, and his skill level dropped greatly when he was as scared as he was at that moment.

He ran downstairs and pounded on the kitchen door, but, again, no one heard him. Those same wards that were supposed to keep me from eavesdropping also kept the Order members from hearing what was going on outside. In a fit of panic, Bill (the dork) completely forgot that he was a bloody cursebreaker and could've been through the wards in a few seconds, instead flooing us both to the hospital.

The injury wasn't as bad as it looked. Yes, my nose had been broken and was spurting theatrically; yes, I'd been concussed and likely brain damaged. But I probably could've healed myself if I'd been more lucid. Remus definitely could've healed me had he not been unavailable. But my luck is what it is. And I ended up in St. Mungo's during the first time in ten years that Healer Jacinta Jernigan was covering a shift for a friend in the Mundane Emergency Department.

"Is that you Blonde Girl?" I heard as a wandlight seared my pupils.

"Mmmmhmmmaaa," I groaned, struggling weakly to escape the unbearable brightness and the weight of my own limbs.

"Blonde Girl," I heard again, "What in Merlin's name have you done to yourself?"

"'S a door," I garbled in reply, "Came outta nowhere. Don' tell Fred. He says'm acciden' prone."

The feeble laugh to my left had to be from Bill. But I absolutely wasn't going to risk opening my eyes again to confirm the theory. "Fuck you, Weasley," I grumbled instead.

I hadn't yet realized that it was Jernigan who was standing over me.

"Classy, Blonde Girl," she quipped, "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Snorting and immediately regretting the action, I replied, "Not without a shovel."

No one even chuckled at my rather morbid joke.

I'd been healed by then and was slowly coming more to my senses. I remembered that there was pretty much only one person who called me Blonde Girl (at least repeatedly to my face). Cautiously, I peered up from my cot and forced my gaze to focus on Jernigan's frazzled gray hair and and leathery black skin and thick square glasses.

"Uh," I greeted hesitantly, "Hi?"

Jernigan peered down at me, and I once again found it rather eerie and unsettling to be the center of her attention. She usually only had a passing glance and sharp command to spare for her students. In fact, it was impressive that she'd even recognized me, especially with my face crushed and my hair changed. I guessed that she was a lot more observant than she let on.

I wondered how much Bill had told her.

"So your friend tells me that you were hit by a door," she began tersely, "And that you're home for the weekend from _Hogwarts_."

I glared briefly at the clueless and confused cursebreaker. "I... can explain?" I ventured hesitantly, sitting up with a wince.

Jernigan pursed her slim lips, chirping, "Quickly." She consulted my chart and added, "Miss _Black_."

_And_ she knew my real name? Damnit, Bill...

"Ok," I admitted, "Well... what happened was... um... I decided that I wanted to become a healer and started studying, and I got... er... curious..."

"So you figured you'd just jump in with both feet and impersonate a trainee?" Jernigan challenged flatly.

"Wait, you did _what_?" interrupted Bill. He gaped at me for a few moments before tugging at his hair and muttering, "Blimey."

Ignoring the redhead, I turned back to Jernigan and pleaded, "I'm sorry, but I'd already read all the books and was so excited to learn. I've been doing all the research and practice that the real trainees do, just not attending the classes with them. But I've always been great at independent study and really just needed the hands-on part with some supervision to make sure I was doing everything right."

Jernigan sighed heavily and scolded, "You are very competent, Miss Black. Nevertheless, I certainly cannot allow an unauthorized seventeen-year-old witch to continue in the program."

I coughed guiltily, correcting, "Sixteen... I, uh, skipped a year."

I'd already been caught, so I didn't think that owning up would hurt anything. Perhaps I'd even be rewarded for my honesty.

Jernigan seemed surprised. And a bit peeved, though her stony expression was rather hard to decipher. "If I catch you sneaking into rounds again," she threatened, "I _will_ report you to the authorities."

Sulking, I answered, "Yes, ma'am."

I almost missed the smirk that passed across her dark, weathered face. It was so slight that it almost wasn't there, just a quirk of her thin lips as she shoved a potion into my hands and declared, "Don't look so depressed, Miss Black. We start accepting applications for next year's trainee class soon. And I'd say your chances of making it in are very good, provided your NEWT scores reflect the capabilities I've seen from you."

It was my turn to be surprised. And then kind of ecstatic. That was as much of an endorsement as I was ever going to get from the woman. "Yes, ma'am," I repeated brightly.

"Good," she stated, all business once again, "Drink the potion, pick up an application form from the education office, and then you're free to go. You'll probably be sore and groggy for a few hours, so straight home and straight to bed." Turning toward Bill, Jernigan questioned, "I trust you'll see her there safely?"

Bill was still a bit stunned, so he just nodded.

Jernigan bent back over her floating clipboard, scribbling notes as she spun and stalked away.

As soon as she was on the other side of the thin curtain surrounding my bed, I let myself fall backwards with a relieved, delighted laugh.

xxXxx

"So..." Bill ventured hesitantly as we walked back toward Grimmauld, "You're not... pregnant, are you?"

Groggy and sore as Jernigan had warned, I leaned against his shoulder and mumbled, "Why do people keep asking me that?"

Doing his best to keep me upright and walking in a straight line, the redhead answered, "Who asked you that?"

"Snape," I said, grimacing as I remembered the incident, "Months ago, but still." After a few more moments of charged silence, I added, "I'm not. Fred and I haven't even slept together yet. We got... distracted."

He chuckled and commented, "Sounds like a funny story."

I growled, "Not really."

xxXxx

So my underage healing career was over after three shifts. It was disappointing but not entirely; I had learned quite a lot, certainly enough to monitor and assist Cho through the majority of her pregnancy (barring any complications). And I could conceivably go back to badger Jernigan for more information if needed. Plus, the old healer had pretty much said that I'd earned a spot in the next class of trainees. How awesome was that? Usually getting caught in one of my schemes doesn't turn out half as brilliantly.

Bill agreed to keep his mouth shut about my "independent studies" if I agreed to keep my mouth shut about how he'd bashed me with a door. He had this silly idea that Dad and Fred would team up to kill him if they found out.

Actually, the thought of my dad and my boyfriend finally working together was tempting...

Anyways, we were able to slip back into Grimmauld without being missed, and Bill put me right to bed. Not that I was really arguing at that point. I slept straight through the night and woke refreshed and free of pain. Tonks and Remus had both stuck around after the meeting, so they joined Dad and me for breakfast.

It was a rowdy little affair but lots of fun. And it didn't do a damn thing to quell the Tonks-Lupin romance rumors. Not that I had much doubt anymore...

After another fun day with Dad and another short session with the shrink, I found myself wanting to go work at the hospital. But I was, of course, unable.

But that meant I had some rare free time. And by free time, I mean alone time. Not that I didn't love all my friends and family, but a few hours of entirely selfish solitude are nice every once in awhile. I walked around London, saw a movie and ate some curry, went shopping for a few new books and t-shirts. I picked up some condoms from a pharmacy.

When I decided I'd had enough alone time, I had to choose between returning to Hogwarts to surprise Fred and returning to Grimmauld to surprise Dad. I decided on Dad, but only because I'd have all week with Fred. And because I knew that Dad hated being cooped up by himself. I bought an impressive array of junk food (pizza, cookies, soda, candy, and more) and headed home.

"Hello?" I called through the empty living rooms and kitchen, "Hello? Daddy? Daddy, are you home?"

Stupid question: he hadn't been anywhere but home in months.

"Dad?"

I checked the backyard and even shouted down into the astoundingly creepy basement. No one answered.

Wandering upstairs, I persisted, "Dad? Daddy? Where are you? I decided to stay another night... Dad?"

I investigated his bedroom and then continued on to what used to be my grandmother's bedroom but was now the hippogriff stable.

Dad was there. At first, I thought he was asleep, slumped against the dozing hippogriff's broad side. But as I crept closer and stepped around Buckbeak, I saw that Dad's eyes were open, glazed and staring off into the distance. He had a nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey in one hand; the other hand held an old picture frame.

"Dad?" I called as I approached cautiously.

No reaction.

"Daddy?" I tried again, falling to my knees at his side.

He let his head roll toward the sound of my voice, squinting in confusion. "S'ella?" he slurred sluggishly, "You're s'posed to be a'school."

He was astoundingly drunk. I'd seen him drink before; I'd seen him buzzed and jolly before. But I'd never seen him drunk and certainly not slurring-his-words, probably-couldn't-pick-himself-up-off-the-floor drunk. Going by a few hushed, concerned comments I'd overheard from Remus, as well as a few snide jabs from Snape, I had the feeling that the behavior wasn't unusual, nor was it an accident that I'd been sheltered from it.

"I decided to come back here after the shrink," I explained, gently prying the bottle away and setting it aside, "I brought you a pizza, and... I don't know. I thought we could hang out."

Blinking, nodding, swallowing heavily, Dad answered, "F'course." He gave a dopey grin and added, "Alw'ys got time fer you. M'baby girl."

I scooted in beside him, holding the pizza on my lap and offering a slice.

Dad accepted but had trouble negotiating the melty cheese; he needed both hands and set the picture frame down carefully between us.

While he ate messily, I examined the snapshot and instantly smiled as my mother waved back at me, she and Dad cuddling and kissing my two-year-old version as we laughed at who-the-hell-remembered-what. Crowding in next to Dad, James bounced baby Harry in the crook of one arm, the other slung lazily around Lily's slight shoulders as the woman fondly rolled her eyes at all of us.

Leaning my head on Dad's shoulder, I wistfully commented, "Mum was so pretty."

She was still pretty when she died, but grief and stress had ravaged her. She'd been going gray, wrinkling prematurely as her body withered along with her soul.

"Ya," Dad agreed, leaning his head on my head, "Y'look like she did. Pretty."

I thought I felt something dripping into my hair and realized that Dad was crying.

Looping both my arms around his shaking torso, I whispered, "It's ok, Daddy. I miss her, too."

"Should'a been there," he wept hopelessly, "S'my fault!"

"No, it wasn't," I replied. Reasoning with drunks is highly difficult (as I knew from my experiences on the other end), but I figured I'd give it a shot. "This is a fucked up era," I added, "And the tragedies we've lived through are only the fault of the evil people who committed them."

Dad sniffled and clung to me clumsily, petting my hair. "M'sorry," he murmured, "M'so sorry. You deserve better'n me as a dad."

"You're a great daddy," I argued, "I love you. And I think you should go to bed, ok? You'll feel much better in the morning."

He was mostly limp, mostly passed out by then but allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet and dragged back to his room. He had more drunken mutterings to impart along the way, about how I was so beautiful and so smart and how much he loved me. About how sorry he was. About how he should've died instead of Mum.

I did my best to reassure him but, as expected, was mostly unsuccessful, ignored and laboring under Dad's weight. When I finally managed to get him into bed, he didn't stay conscious very much longer.

I tucked him in and gathered various supplies that might be needed: cold water, an empty wastebasket, a bottle of hangover potion. The picture frame. I brought my pizza and other junk food into Dad's room and made myself comfortable in an armchair near his bed. That's where I stayed all night, watching over my daddy and soothing him when he whimpered and thrashed in the grip of bad dreams, when he woke up crying and babbling and apologizing and demanding more whiskey. When he called me Leda.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sorry for the long wait, but this chapter just refused to end. On the bright side, it turned out extra long for y'all. Hope you enjoyed, and reviews are always appreciated.

On a side note, I'm considering changing the title. Any input on the subject would also be appreciated :)


	28. Origin of Species

Part 28 – Origin of Species

I awoke to a soft touch on my hand and became instantly aware of the searing pain in my neck, radiating down through my shoulders and spine, up into the base of my skull. "Merlin's magical arsecrack," I groaned, shifting gingerly and finding absolutely no relief from the intense ache.

Falling asleep upright is just never a good idea, and especially not with one's neck bent at an unnatural angle against a creaky old wingback.

"Were you here all night?" Uncle Remus questioned quietly. I opened my eyes in time to watch him crouch down in front of me, removing the empty pizza box from my lap and handing it off to a very anxious Tonks.

With a bleary yawn, I winced again and rubbed my neck, reporting, "Tried to surprise Dad."

And found him in a fit of drunken depression. I glanced over and discovered that he was still out cold, tangled in his sheets and a riot of long black hair.

"Why don't you get a shower, love," Remus suggested, "I'll make some breakfast, alright?"

I'd learned to recognize a brush off, and my godfather was clearly administering one.

"Fine," I sighed, "But drunkenness doesn't really upset me, you know. I am, after all, a recovering alcoholic."

Remus clearly didn't agree with or approve of my declaration, but he had no further comment as I left the room.

xxXxx

Later, Tonks saw my bag in the kitchen and thought she was helping by bringing it up to me. Because she's Tonks, my cousin tripped and spilled its contents down the stairs.

Because I'm me and my luck is of the consistently inconvenient kind, the condoms I'd recently bought ended up right by Tonks's feet.

"Stella?"

Still mid-shower and unaware of this unfortunate series of events, I swiped some suds away from my eyes and called, "Be out in a sec."

Instead of leaving, Tonks stepped inside and sat down on the closed toilet.

I stuck my head out of the curtain, skeptically inquiring, "Can I help you with something?"

She held up the box.

Rolling my eyes, I went back to my shower and declared, "None of your business."

"I just figured I'd offer a talk, if you wanted one," said Tonks, "Sex is a big step."

The deflection sprang forth from my lips as if it had a life of its own: "Speaking of which, are you nailing my godfather yet?"

She actually fell over right on the spot, tumbling straight into the shower curtain and ripping it down with her.

Sighing, I finished rinsing and stepped out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel and retreating toward my room.

Tonks came along in a few moments, her hair pale gray and her gaze sheepish.

"Oh, relax," I laughed, "I've known for months. Everybody has. You two are nowhere near as discrete as you seem to think you are."

After a brief moment of gaping shock, Tonks blurted, "It just happened."

"You don't have to explain," I told her, quickly toweling off my short hair before adding, "I'm not mad. It is about time Uncle Moony quit acting like a damn monk. You know, I never remember him dating even once during all the time I've lived with him."

Tonks gave a hesitant, relieved smile. And then she shook herself, insisting, "You're just trying to distract me."

"Distract you from what?" I replied slyly.

She sighed, "Stella."

Rolling my eyes, I deadpanned, "Yes, Fred and I will start having sex soon. Yes, we will be using protection. Yes, I'm sure. Satisfied?"

Tonks shrugged, "I suppose... just... I'm here, you know? If you need me."

"I know," I said, tugging her into a quick hug, "I appreciate the concern." With a wink and a smirk, I questioned, "Do I even have to tell you not to breathe a word of this to my parental figures?"

She snorted loudly, "I'm not an idiot, Stel."

I laughed, "Just checking."

xxXxx

After fending off Remus's well-meaning but unnecessary attempts at a heart-to-heart, I went to check on Dad and found him curled up beneath his bed. He stared out at me with miserable, pain-filled puppy eyes and whined shrilly, covering his snout with his big paws.

"So are hangovers better or worse as a dog?" I questioned, stretching out on the floor.

He huffed, obviously not appreciating the joke. Before I could reassure him any further, he burrowed his head under a pile of dirty laundry.

"Daddy," I sighed, "It's ok. Really." For a few minutes, we sat in silence as I tried to think of something to useful say.

Before I could, Remus returned to deliver a plate of breakfast. As he bent down to hand it to me, he scolded, "Padfoot, get out of there." With a sigh, my old godfather explained, "He always used to do this when he was upset at himself. Of course, I was under the impression that he'd _finally grown out of it_."

Dad growled warningly.

I giggled, because it was pretty cute. I held a scrap of bacon under the bed and didn't have to wait long for him to sniff tentatively and approach the treat. Then it was only a matter of seizing him by the scruff and hauling him out.

Throwing my arms around his wriggling body, I squeezed him tight and soothed, "I'm not mad at you, Daddy. I just want you to be alright."

He gave a few pitiful whines but still snuggled into my embrace.

xxXxx

Dad only changed back when I was getting ready to leave an hour or so later. I was gathering a few things from my room and turned and found him standing guiltily in the doorway. Still so gaunt and broken.

I smiled and asked, "You good?"

He nodded, shuffled back and forth a few steps, opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally muttering, "I'm... really sorry, love. I never meant... I didn't want you to see me like that."

Because he was obviously in need of one, I walked over and gave him a big hug. "I know," I replied.

His broad frame trembled as he wrapped his arms around me, as he sighed and admitted, "I wish I could be a better man."

"You don't have to be anyone but yourself," I insisted, "I don't expect perfection, Daddy. Saddness is allowed. So is drunkenness, as long as it doesn't become a health problem." At the hint of his reluctant smile, I added, "I love you, ok?"

"Love you, too, baby girl," he muttered as his embrace tightened, "More than anything."

xxXxx

We parted shortly later, and I headed back to school. I was still worried about Dad but knew that he would be alright. He had to be.

Fred was sore after quidditch practice again, so I treated him to another massage in his dorm. He wouldn't let me get up after, closing me into his arms and playing with my hair while I gave him a somewhat edited account of my weekend (blaming myself rather than Bill for the trip to the mundane emergency department, even though it gave Fred license to continue referring to me as "accident prone" (there was really no chance of stopping that anyways)).

"You're going to be a healer," he hummed against my nape, "A real one."

"Mhmm," I replied, "The application shouldn't take me long, and then I just have to get a recommendation and make sure that all my test scores are sent in."

Fred said, "Wicked." He wormed his hands up under my shirt, making me whine and squirm as his frigid fingers pressed against my stomach. The jerk just laughed and traced a few lazy runes around my navel.

With a bit of effort, I finally managed to turn over in his arms, snuggling in and murmuring, "What did you and George do this weekend?"

"Actually, we scouted a few shop locations," he reported cheerfully, "There's one we really like in Diagon. A big storefront that's for sale instead of just a rental. It needs a lot of fixing up, but other than that it's pretty much perfect."

"Exciting," I gushed, "I can't wait to see."

"We can go this week, if you want," he offered, leaning in intently, "It's been far too long since I've taken my gorgeous girlfriend out on a date."

I grinned, unable to take my eyes off his descending lips as I agreed, "And I can certainly always use more Fred-time..."

"STELLA... Uh... um... e-excuse me?"

Fred groaned, veering off course to let his forehead fall against my shoulder.

With a chuckle, I gave him a light shove and sat up. I smiled at the first-year shuffling nervously in the doorway. "What's up, Dash?" I greeted kindly.

Seeming relieved that I wasn't angry or annoyed with his interruption, the coltish blonde puffed out his little chest and very importantly announced, "There's some people waiting to see you outside the portrait. They asked if I'd come up and let you know."

"Alright," I replied, "I'll be there in just a moment. Thanks."

Little Dash Wickham blushed a bit, trying to hide a grin as he murmured, "You're welcome." And then he was gone.

His arms tightening around my waist, Fred grumbled, "Is it bad that I _really_ hate sharing you?"

"Of course not," I laughed, carefully tracing the strong line of his jaw before pressing my mouth to his. Too soon, I pulled away breathless and added, "Unfortunately, you still have to. Get some rest, love. I'll see you at dinner."

He pouted but freed me with only a small degree of discernible reluctance.

I kissed him once more and then set off for the portrait hole. As soon as it opened, I heard Cho's half-hysterical sobs.

"It's alright," I also heard, the voice awkward and masculine, "I... um... I'm sure she'll be down soon... there, there."

Joshua appeared to be doing his absolute best to comfort Cho, patting her back and providing reassurances but all the while gazing about frantically for someone to save him from the task.

I graciously did so, transferring the girl's snotty, choked coughs from his shoulder to mine before either teen even registered my presence. "C'mon," I instructed softly.

xxXxx

Cho's hysteria was relatively short-lived. As soon as I got her back to my suite, got her to take deep breaths and drink some tea, she was pretty much fine.

"I thought I saw him," she croaked, exhausted and slumped in my bed, "Cedric. Out of the corner of my eye. And the next thing I knew, I was chasing some ridiculously tall fourth-year through the corridors... it was... disappointing... but more than anything else, I just feel so stupid."

"Don't bother with that, hun," I comforted, "It's natural when you're missing someone to think you see them everywhere. Rest for a bit, ok? I'll wake you for dinner."

She nodded, curling up and closing her eyes. The poor thing was out in seconds, and I resolved to have words with her about getting more sleep.

I returned to my common room and was less than surprised to see that Joshua was still there, fidgeting guiltily on my couch and slyly glancing toward the staircase every few seconds.

"I guess this means that you've still had no luck with Pucey?" I inquired as I sat beside the sandy-haired Hufflepuff.

Joshua pouted and declared, "Adrian won't even stay in the same room if he sees me there. And he hasn't answered any of my owls."

"Well," I replied, "If he wants to be stubborn, then it's his loss."

Sighing, Joshua halfheartedly grumbled, "I know."

I was already prepared to counter the lad's depression. "Would you do me a favor?" I said, grabbing a piece of parchment off a nearby pile, "Eva Tenor's really sick, so I need someone to take her place on rounds tonight. I'll let you have first choice of scheduling next week."

Joshua looked a bit disheartened but was too nice not to agree, "Alright. Ok. Ya, sure."

Dummy didn't even ask who his partner for rounds was going to be, not even when I couldn't help smirking as I inked his name next to Pucey's on the timetable.

Mischief managed.

xxXxx

Confident that Pucey-Lerner situation would be resolved, one way or another, I bade Joshua goodbye and then busied myself performing a fresh blood test on Cho. She was a little anemic (low iron), which I didn't like, but I hoped that some solid meals would perk her right up. I worked on my healer application for a few hours before I heard a frantic knock and went to investigate.

George nearly ran me over rushing in and down the stairs. "Hide me!" he yelped, leaping over the spiral railing.

The couch gave a loud squeal of protest as the sweat-drenched redhead landed hard and then rolled off to the floor. He must've been trying to camouflage himself as a rug or something because that's where he remained, sprawled facedown and tangled in his quidditch robes.

I raised resumed my seat and an eyebrow at him, blandly inquiring, "Were you being pursued, my dear Georgie?"

He mumbled something into the carpet. I couldn't quite understand it all but did catch the words _Angelina_ and _wind sprints_ and _power-mad tyrant_.

I giggled at his misfortune, causing the lad to pick his head up and glare.

"She ambushed me coming out of breakfast," he growled, "Next thing I know, I'm spending my entire Sunday running drills. She's completely obsessed!"

"She wants to win," I declared, resuming my seat and my quill, "I can respect that."

Finally abandoning his rug impression, George flopped down beside me. He peered over my shoulder and perused the application in my lap. He frowned, commenting, "Are you actually thinking of getting a real grown-up career? My twin and I will not stand for this!"

I laughed, reporting, "Fred already knows. And he's very supportive."

George pouted. "Poor fellow is obviously distraught," the teen countered, "I'll console him later."

Marigold, who was heavily pregnant and could barely move, chose that moment to emerge from a nook in the nearby bookcase. She was a friendly little creature and used a considerable amount of energy that she really couldn't spare just waddling over to squeak a bright hello to George.

He scooped the fluffy puffskein up with one hand, peering at her curiously before inquiring, "What's wrong with it?"

I snatched my pet back and cuddled her warmly, scolding, "_She_ is set to give birth any day now. To a litter that's almost twice the normal number, no less. If her pups grow any larger while they're still inside, they're going to burst poor Marigold at the seams."

"Oh," replied George, "I can fix that." Before I could stop him, he'd drawn his wand, pointed it at Marigold, and waved off a spell.

Marigold shivered as the magic washed over her but seemed otherwise unaffected.

"What did you just do?" I gaped.

Shrugging, the redhead declared, "Relax. It was just something to slow down the pups' growth. Mum had to have it done on me and Fred, and I think Charlie, too. We were large babies."

I was not exactly pleased by having spells performed on my pet without my permission and glared heatedly.

I had no idea that George's innocent attempt at being helpful was just the beginning of a very long week of puffskein-related turmoil.

xxXxx

The remainder of Sunday passed without much fanfare. Dinner. Studying. Bed. I was nervous about Marigold, so I kept waking every hour or so with the need to check on her. She seemed fine, but I couldn't help being paranoid. And then I would usually have to get a drink or walk around before sliding back under my covers for the next bout of restlessness.

Eventually, I just abandoned the pursuit of sleep, dragging a blanket out into the common room and curling up with a thick medical textbook. I did find mention of a stasis spell being used to slow fetal development at the very end of pregnancies, but it wasn't the same one that George had used. And the type hadn't been used commonly since the late-eighties. This did nothing to alleviate my concerns.

The door above me burst open, followed shortly by the sounds of heated face-sucking as Joshua and Pucey moved into view. They said nothing (and didn't seem to notice me at all), groping frantically as they stumbled down the staircase and towards Pucey's bedroom, shedding clothing with every uncoordinated step.

I was pleased that my plan to get them together had worked and would've been quite happy to remain silent and overlooked until they were locked safely away in the privacy of Pucey's lair; however, Marigold chose that moment to dart out from beneath a nearby armchair and directly into the site of Pucey's next footstep.

"AH! FUCK!"

The two teens tumbled to the floor in a comical flurry of half-dressed limbs.

"MARIGOLD!" I shrieked, darting out to save my poor squished pet.

She gurgled helplessly in my arms, oozing sticky purple blood onto my hands...

Wait.

_Purple? _Even in the magical community, that definitely wasn't natural.

"That damn thing is a menace!" Pucey blustered, blushing quite profusely but nonetheless gallantly assisting Joshua up from the ground, "This is the third time this week it's kamikazed me! I'm sick of it!"

"You killed her," I sobbed, suddenly noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks.

Pucey rolled his eyes. "The useless beast is _fine_," he insisted, "Look."

I looked down in time to see the sticky purple substance ooze backwards into Marigold's matted fluff. The puffskein gave a small whimper of discomfort as her wounds sealed themselves, but in just a few moments, Marigold appeared once again uninjured, cuddling happily into my embrace.

"What the _fuck_?" I shouted, "You can't just- what did you do to her?"

Joshua stepped clear of the obvious impending massacre.

"I gave her a little of the potion I'm developing," Pucey reported, all infuriating nonchalance and slick black hair, "It's a generic but super-concentrated repair serum that can be administered before an actual injury and then goes to work instantly when one does occur. I'm hoping to market it to quidditch teams, so that players can take it before a game and then be able to heal without leaving the pitch or even stopping the play."

I punched him hard in the face, sending the Slytherin spinning one full turn and then toppling into the sofa. "You are not allowed to experiment on my pet!" I screamed, "You don't have any idea what effects that stuff is going to have! Especially when she's bloody _pregnant_!"

"She's not pregnant," Pucey woozily claimed, rubbing his jaw as he attempted to stand, "She's just fat."

I punched him again. I probably should've done a better job controlling myself, but at the time I was far too angry to have such rational thoughts.

"OW!" my fellow Head cried, shielding himself frantically, "What's the big deal? You experiment on her, too! I thought that's what she was _for_!"

Incensed, I bellowed, "I am _learning healing spells_, not _testing potions for fun and profit_! Argh! I can't believe you!"

"Stop overreacting!" he fired back, "I haven't done anything to hurt her! In fact, this time it saved her wretched life-"

"_This time_?" I interrupted, "What do you mean _this time_? What other times were there?"

Growing slightly wide-eyed as he realized his slip-up, Pucey sent a pleading glance toward Joshua, who simply smirked and shook his head. Non-involvement was definitely the wisest decision on his part.

"Er," Pucey hesitantly began, "A... a _small_ weight-loss potion."

I could feel a few of my facial muscles begin twitching with rage.

He scrambled back across the couch as best he could, defending, "It's not like it even worked! I mean, just look at her!"

The force of my answering, completely unintentional hex blew the Slytherin straight out of his shoes, sending him soaring across the room and into the wall with an impressive _KABLAM_. He crumbled into an unmoving heap, unconscious at my hands yet again.

I heard Joshua chuckle and whirled around to glare at him. I growled, "You have _awful_ taste in men."

With a dopey grin, he sauntered over to check on the object of his ridiculous obsession and agreed, "Ya, I know."

xxXxx

Nestled safely in my satchel, Marigold seemed fine all through my Monday morning classes. She slept through Herbology and then purred loudly during Charms. Flitwick didn't mention the sound by held me after to ask if I was alright.

Apparently I had lacked my usual attentiveness and enthusiastic hand-raising. He was worried, he said, because the last time that had happened had kicked off my Year of the Crazy. (My words; his were, of course, kinder and much more tactful.)

But with his question, the dam broke. I blubbered and shoved the puffskein in the professor's startled face, insisting that I had killed her and that I was going to be a terrible healer and a failure at life.

"Now, now, Miss Black," the tiny man squeaked, awkwardly patting my back while I jackknifed in half to wail into his shoulder, "I'm sure it's not as bad as all that. Let's just have a look at her, shall we?"

I sniffled and released him with an embarrassed hiccup, relinquishing Marigold into his capable hands.

She snuffled and gave him a friendly swipe with her long tongue. Flitwick actually giggled, very quickly determining that he could find nothing wrong with the creature.

"Are you sure?" I asked hopefully, "I mean, I was practicing a lot of stuff on her, and there's no telling what could've reacted with what."

"There might be effects I can't detect," Flitwick reported gravely, "But I've released all the charms, and there doesn't appear to be any lasting damage from the potions. If you're still concerned, then I'd recommend taking her to see Professor Grubby-Plank. She is far more adept than I am at understanding creature physiology."

I nodded, answering, "Yes, sir. Thanks." With a watery smile, I added, "Sorry for freaking out on you."

He waved me off brightly. "No trouble at all, my dear," he insisted, "I know how attached we can become to our pets. As a boy, I had a parakeet named Figaro. It broke my heart when he finally died, but I still treasure the time we had together." He sniffled and then declared, "You'd better get going, Miss Black. A girl your age should not be skipping meals."

I hugged him again, chirping, "Thanks. Really."

Flustered but upbeat, Flickwick replied, "No trouble at all. And, for the record, I think you'll make a fine healer. Do let me know if you ever need help with this independent study."

With one last warm grin, I pranced off for lunch.

xxXxx

Professor Grubby-Plank assured me that Marigold would live a long, healthy life. However, the old professor could not speak as to the health of her pups. "There's just no telling with creatures so young," she stated softly, laying a hand over mine when my bottom lip began to tremble, "They are far more susceptible to lasting complications, especially while still _in utero_. But whatever's done is done, so we'll just have to wait and see."

It wasn't quite the answer I wanted, and I spent the rest of the day sulky and miserable, glaring at Pucey and at George, both of whom insisted that the other was completely at fault.

After dinner, I received word that Dumbledore wanted to see me in his office. I really wasn't in the mood for him, but I went anyways. I wish I hadn't.

The meeting went bad as soon as I stepped through the door and saw that Umbridge was there, looking squat and smug in_ my_ usual seat.

"Miss Black," the headmaster greeted before I had a chance to rip the hag's face off, "Thank you for coming."

McGonogall was there, standing straight-backed beside the desk and staring daggers at Umbridge. Flitwick was in the other seat; he looked so little and lost in utter despair.

"What's this about?" I asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore sighed, his reluctance obvious. "There have been some... allegations," he said, "Of inappropriate conduct between you and Professor Flitwick."

"You're kidding," I laughed, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Umbridge _hem hem_ coughed obnoxiously, simpering, "The Ministry takes all such allegations very seriously even if you do not, Miss Black. I will be conducting an investigation into this matter."

Feeling my anger boiling over, I shouted, "You want to know what happened? I was upset because some idiot's been poisoning my pet! Professor Flitwick noticed and talked to me about it! Nothing even remotely _inappropriate_ went on!"

Umbridge jotted down a few notes and (noticeably enjoying herself a great deal) inquired, "At what point did physical contact occur between you and Professor Flitwick?"

Because she was finding such glee in my anger and discomfort, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to remain calm and not to give her the satisfaction. I marched over to the headmaster's pensieve, artfully, wandlessly plucked the memory of that morning from my mind, and set it floating in the bowl. "See for yourself," I ordered, "And in the future, don't waste my time or sully a good man's reputation with such utter _bullshit_." I nodded supportively at Flitwick (who looked rather impressed) and then hastily stomped away.

xxXxx

The charges, of course, didn't stick. They weren't even mentioned to me again. And Flitwick remained in his position, so I have to believe that he wasn't given anymore trouble.

That's not to say that Umbridge didn't keep trying, but at least she left the sweet little professor alone for the time being.

Despite my lingering anger and frustration, I went with Fred on Thursday to Diagon Alley, where he proudly showed me a large boarded-up storefront.

"It's perfect," I declared, allowing myself to be ushered inside the musty interior. Several dozen or so old, empty, mostly broken shelves littered the expansive first story, char marks on the back wall giving evidence of a small fire. A half inch of dust and soot had settled over absolutely everything. I'm certain I heard the skittering of rodents and insects coming from quite a few different directions, cobwebs fluttering in the draft.

But you only had to look a little past all that to really appreciate what the store could be. Once unboarded, the huge windows and soaring skylight would let light pour into the space, and the narrowish catwalks spiraling up on all sides would be packed to bursting with bright, colorful, chaotic fun.

Fred chuckled and seized my hand, dragging me toward the back as he insisted, "You haven't even seen the best part."

He was talking about the lab. And though few people ever set foot inside, it really _was _the best part. Well, actually a very close second.

"Wow," I gaped, admiring the impressive array of tables and equipment and storerooms, any Potions Master's wet dream, "This is amazing!"

"Ya," my boyfriend agreed. He hugged me from behind and pressed a kiss into my neck, mumbling, "The place used to be a research facility. The owner inherited it from his father, who was arrested for Dark Arts practice and animal cruelty shortly after Voldie went down the first time. The kid is only a few years older than we are, and he seems like a really nice bloke. Doesn't want anything to do with any of this stuff, so he says we can have it all with the building."

"Not exactly a spotless provenance," I replied, "But I'm sure we can put the gear to much better use."

I felt him smile, and then we were rushing through the lab stations, Fred dragging me along and announcing, "There's one more thing."

At the very back of the long room was a bright red door, the paint old and chipping but no less vibrant. We walked through it and up a cramped, dark staircase.

Above the lab was a very spacious little apartment, three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a kitchen and a living room, even a balcony overlooking the small alley behind the building, muggle London in the distance.

"Fred," I breathed, my heart in my throat as I thought of what he might be about to ask.

"I'd like you to live here," he said, taking both my hands and staring down hopefully, "With me. And George. But mostly me." He frowned at himself, muttering, "That sounded so much better in my head."

Not waiting for yet more nervous mumblings, I threw my arms around his neck, laughing as he spun me happily. "Of course I'll move in with you," I snickered, "And George. But mostly you."

Blushing but grinning like a mad man, he leaned forward and promptly pressed his lips to mine.

We'd had some fireworks moments before, but... wow. Really, that could've been T_he Moment_...

However, before said moment could progress much further, my book bag let loose an unholy screech.

I took several painful seconds to realize that the bag itself wasn't responsible for the cacophony; the contents were actually to blame, Marigold bleating and flailing across my homework.

"She's gone into labor!" I declared frantically.

Leaning over my shoulder, Fred hesitantly inquired, "Ok... well, what do we do?"

I struggled to force down my panic, stating, "Um, she needs a warm, dark, comfortable place, lots of water, and for us to just make sure she's not going into distress. Other than that, all the books say that she should do it mostly on her own."

Fred said, "There's a pile of rags in the broom closet in the hallway. And we've got a few clean dishes in the cupboard."

Nodding, I agreed, "That should work." I got my pet situated and then left the door open a crack, listening anxiously as she moaned in pain.

Clearly sensing that our date had been hijacked by biology, Fred sighed, pecked me on the cheek and murmured, "I'll go fetch some takeout."

xxXxx

The next morning, Friday, September 27th, I arrived back at Hogwarts sleep deprived but beaming, toting a large box containing a dozen newborn puffskeins. They looked like fluffy cotton balls and squeaked almost constantly, climbing all over their poor exhausted mother. They seemed healthy. Normal. It would be weeks before I suspected that they weren't.

But, in the meantime, I was pleased and proud and already eagerly trying to think of names for the new additions to my growing menagerie.

"Virgil?" I suggested, steering my sleepy boyfriend away from a suit of armor.

He nodded absently and yawned, "Sounds good. How are you even telling them apart?"

With a laugh, I reported, "A lot of people ask me the same thing about you and George."

"And what do you say?" he questioned, skeptical but intrigued.

I snickered, "Trade secret." Scooping up the youngest of the bunch, I proclaimed, "This little one looks like a Matilda."

Matilda purred happily and wrapped her absurdly long tongue all the way around my middle finger.

Soon Wilbur, Sancho, Dorothy, Ichabod, Clarice, Gatsby, Nancy, Lenina, Hester, Virgil, Atticus, Matilda, Marigold, Fred, and I arrived back at my suite. Joshua and Pucey were there, looking cute and cozy having breakfast by the fire. It was almost a shame to interrupt them with threats of endless, elaborate torture should Pucey so much as touch another of my pets ever again.

"Are you keeping them all?" Joshua inquired, ignoring a peevish pout from Pucey. The sandy-haired Hufflepuff held Gatsby in his palm, giggling and ruffling the creature's bright white fur.

"I was going to," I explained, "But the books say that you shouldn't have the different genders together unless you want to be up to your ankles in puffskeins. And while I wouldn't mind that too much, siblings should never breed." Sighing heavily, I said, "They'll molt in a few weeks when they're sexually mature, so I have until then to find them some good homes."

Joshua grinned, cuddling Gatsby against his chest and chirping, "Dibs!"

"Great," Pucey grumbled.

Fred chose that moment to fall asleep on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me like one might a favorite teddy bear. Poor kid was really tuckered out after a night of valiantly keeping me calm and distracted.

"I'd better get him to bed," I murmured, manhandling the redhead until he was on his feet and stumbling blearily as I shoved him toward my bedroom, "Tell Trelawney that I had a vision of her death and that the only way to avoid it was for Fred and me to skip class."

Looking intrigued, Pucey asked, "Does that actually work?"

I shrugged. "Ya, but I try not to overuse it. She's gullible, not stupid." After tucking Fred in, I planned to head back to Marigold and her offspring, but my lovely boyfriend had other ideas. "Fred!" I yelped as he grabbed me around the waist and yanked me down into bed, "Jeez, warn a girl, would you?"

"Mmm," he hummed, snuggling up against my back and burrowing his face into my hair, "Stay."

I defy even those of the strongest willpower to say no to such a heartfelt plea coming from such a sweet, lovable redhead. "Cuddle slut," I fondly accused, settling in for an early morning nap.

xxXxx

I had already decided to take Marigold and the puff pups home with me to see Dad that weekend. I thought that he'd like them and maybe that I'd talk him or someone else into adopting. Plus I didn't want to leave them alone with Pucey or make the twins have to babysit. Angelina was still kicking their arses with all the practices.

So the box of cute fluffy creatures accompanied me to dinner. Before the end of the meal, I already had a list as long as my arm of people who desperately wanted one of the puff pups to call their own. I was already pretty sure that Bryony Dunstan was getting Atticus, Phoebe Anderson was getting Clarice, and Quentin Raeburn was getting Wilbur. Other than them, there'd been such a commotion that I'd had to tell everyone that I wouldn't be making up my mind for a few weeks.

Harry caught me as I left the Great Hall, falling into step and gallantly taking the box out of my hands. He peered inside, chuckling, "They really are cute."

"Damn straight," I answered proudly. Tousling Harry's messy black mop as we walked, I inquired, "What's new with you, little bother? Staying out of trouble?"

He gave a guilty shrug, glancing up and down the corridor before stating, "Well, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about... can we go somewhere more private?"

Growing a bit worried, I replied, "I'm heading to use the floo in McGonogall's office. We can chat in there."

We didn't say much else until we were safely behind closed doors.

"Hermione had this idea," the teen began, shuffling and apparently fascinated with his toes, "That since Umbridge is such a terrible Defense teacher, someone else should offer to show people some stuff."

Flopping down into McGonogall's seat, I conceded, "Not the worst idea I've ever heard. Merlin knows that useless hag isn't out to help anybody pass their exams, let alone protect themselves."

Harry nodded and slid his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Finally looking up as his confidence gathered. "We're having a meeting to see who's interested," he explained, "Next Saturday during the Hogsmeade visit. At the Hog's Head. I know you usually go visit Snuffles, but-"

"I'll be there," I promised, smirking at his surprised expression, "Snuffles will understand if I have to duck out for a few hours. Besides, this is important. Nobody knows more about the subject of escaping certain death than you do. It's a wonder you haven't been offered your own advice column yet."

My joke was rewarded with a pronounced eye roll and a reluctant smile. "Well," the bespectacled lad declared, "I'm glad you're coming, even if no one else shows."

"Boosting your self-esteem is going to the top of my to-do list," I informed the boy. I gave him a quick one-armed hug and then ordered, "Now get out of here. It's the weekend! Have some crazy wild fun!"

Harry melted into my embrace, chuckling, "I'll see if Hermione has any scheduled."

xxXxx

Beside some initial sheepishness, Dad seemed to have fully recovered from the embarrassment of our last visit.

I really wasn't mad at him. Or disappointed or anything like that. First of all, I had no right to be; my own bout with alcoholism had been a frustrating blur of anger at all those attempting to cure me of it with nothing but words and worry. Secondly, I wasn't even sure if he was struggling with alcoholism; the loss of his wife, daughter, and best friends were huge blows even individually, and coupled with his unjust imprisonment, they were enough to drive anyone to drink. He was an adult who had certainly earned the right to figure out for himself that drinking away pain and loss doesn't work for long.

"Stella," I heard as I was woken abruptly at 7 AM on Saturday.

Peering out through one peevishly cracked eyelid, I impatiently grumbled, "Mmm. What?"

Dad grinned and proudly presented me with a brand new Firebolt.

I burrowed my head underneath the pillow and halfheartedly muttered, "Thanks."

Even without being able to see, I could sense his pout. He jostled my shoulder and announced, "I got you a present."

Again, I said, "Thanks." It had been an exhausting week and a very late night, and I didn't want anything except for the opportunity to sleep until a decent hour. Plus, a broom? Really? Obviously no one had warned Dad that I was not the most gifted flyer. Other than transportation and occasional games to humor the twins, I generally preferred to stay off those infernal things.

Suddenly, I had an enormous black dog sitting on my lungs and slobbering all over my face. The only way to make him stop (short of hurling him out a window) was to agree to come outside and test my new broom.

With a huge yawn and a groggy glare, I straddled the contraption and kicked off, wobbling a few feet above the ground. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and I eyed the dewy grass warily, knowing that I'd probably be colliding with it quite soon.

"No, no, no," Dad scolded, "That's not right at all! Who taught you to do it like that?"

"Dunno," I said, floating back down with a shrug, "School, probably. Mum never let me have a broom. She said they were too dangerous."

Fond yet bittersweet exasperation passed across my father's weathered face. "She always hated quidditch," he murmured, "I had to beg every time to get her to come watch me play. And even then she spent most of the games with her eyes shut." Chuckling, he added, "Between you and me, I think she had a thing about heights."

I snickered, teasing, "I once had to talk her down from a stepladder. What was your first clue?"

Dad grinned and ruffled my spiky, colorful hair. "Cheeky brat," he scolded, gently correcting my grip, "We'll just have to start with the basics."

xxXxx

The broom and the flying lessons were hardly Dad's only surprise for me that weekend. After Uncle Remus went to bed that night, Dad whispered to follow him and then carefully led the way out the front door.

When I saw what was waiting at the curb, I squealed so loud that I nearly blew our cover. "Sorry," I whispered, unable to stop another delighted giggle as I skipped toward the sleek black muscle car (a new Mustang, I later learned), "Where'd you get her?"

"This beauty is just a rental," Dad murmured, clearly as delighted as I was with the machine. He took a brief moment to caress the hood before tossing me the keys and declaring, "Had to call in a favor with Dung. But I figured it was about time you learn to drive as well as fly. A sixteen-year-old should, and your mother always said I wasn't allowed to get you a car or a bike until you have a license."

"Because you never had a real one, right?" I snickered, sliding into the driver's seat with a giddy thrill, "You and Uncle James had fake ones that you made out of coasters. They always bewitched the cops that pulled you over to let you off with a warning and then sing opera all the way back to their own cars."

Buckling up, Dad chuckled, "I see dear old Moony has been regaling you with tales of our wild youth."

I was grinning too hard to answer, so instead I revved the engine, threw the car into gear, and zoomed off into the night.

xxXxx

Uncle Remus never quite figured out all the details, but he was sure that we'd gone out without permission and started keeping a much closer watch. Dad was affected more than I was, but we both felt the inconvenience of increased supervision.

Still, that weekend was phenomenal. And I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

Back at school Sunday afternoon, I met up with the twins, and we all swapped reports of our time apart. They really didn't have much; Umbridge was unbearable, quidditch practice a chore. Fred and I tried to go on a date that night, but we both ended up called away to other things: I had to break up and then sort out a cat fight between two hysterical fourth-year girls, and Fred had to attend an impromptu team meeting and practice, as well as an unjust detention handed down by that fat tub of slime.

And unfortunately, our week continued in such a fashion. On Monday, I handed out the October rounds schedule and then had to spend the rest of the day dealing with prefects badgering me for changes. Although it was finally set by dinner, Fred was called away to deal with a problem with the contracts for the shop. He returned to the castle early Tuesday and once again spent the morning sleeping off exhaustion in my bed. I couldn't stay with him though, instead covering two detentions and sorting out yet another cat fight between the same two hysterical fourth-year girls. They were back to being friends by bedtime, but then I was the one who barely managed to crawl beneath the covers before passing out cold.

Wednesday seemed promising. Fred and I woke up early and enjoyed a lazy makeout session that easily could've evolved into something more. However, Ichabod and Hester had somehow escaped their crate and wedged themselves behind my desk. By the time my boyfriend and I followed their panicked shrieks and rescued the pair, Pucey was pounding on my door and shouting that Dumbledore needed to meet with us right away. The old man simply wanted a progress report on the last month, which I gave quickly and curtly. But alas, the time it took was more than enough for Fred and George to land themselves in trouble, and they spent their evening polishing trophies under the watchful eye of Mr. Filch.

Fred and I didn't see each other at all outside classes on Thursday. A million little things kept us apart during the day, and a stern warning from McGonogall kept my boyfriend and me in separate beds that night.

By Friday, we were both cranky and sad from missing each other. And I decided that I absolutely would spend time with Fred during lunch. I had Verry pack a picnic, and I was going to kidnap my boyfriend, and together we would spend a few hours hidden away from the stress and responsibility and distraction of our lives.

Friday was also the day I caught him with another girl's tongue in his mouth.

Here's what happened:

During our morning Divination class, I passed a note to George asking him to wrangle my boyfriend to the front doors in time for the surprise. He graciously agreed to help.

What neither of us knew was that a girl named Eva Tenor had been reading over George's shoulder during Divination, but only the part about George being near the front doors around noon. Eva Tenor had a _huge_ crush on George. Actually I don't think she was picky about which twin, but the seventh-year Ravenclaw was at least smart enough to know that Fred was strictly off limits.

So there I was with my picnic basket, hidden stealthily behind one of the big doors, waiting for Fred to appear so that I could whisk him away for some much-needed fun and relaxation. I heard the twins before I saw them, their raucous voices echoing in the mostly deserted entryway. I peeked out just in time to watch George bolt around the corner, cackling and taunting as Fred gave furious chase. The reason for Fred's anger became very quickly apparent: George had stolen the ugly knit cap made for him by none other than yours truly.

Sniggering silently into my hand, I mused that maybe I should be more specific about acceptable methods the next time I asked for George's assistance.

While I looked on, George jammed the hat down on his own head, scaled a nearby statue, and then began reciting bawdy poetry. Fred jumped and threatened and swore but couldn't manage to catch his brother.

Enter Eva Tenor.

Fred's hat was as distinctive as it was ugly, and upon seeing it on George's head, Eva assumed that George was in fact the rightful owner, previously established in her mind as Fred. And that meant that she assumed the hatless twin was George.

(Sadly, these are the hazards of dating someone with a double on the loose.)

Eva'd had her crush for going on seven years, and she had finally decided to make her interest known. (None of us even suspected; Eva wasn't shy, but she was quite quiet and nerdy. She'd been George's Potions partner a few times but had barely said anything to him.) She had also decided that the best way to accomplish this feat was to walk up and snog George silly.

I'm sure George would've enjoyed it greatly had Eva actually treated him to such a unique declaration. However, she ended up slobbering all over Fred, who flailed in shock and then began trying to push her away. Eva was insistent though, refusing to let go, and that's when my stunned brain managed to comprehend the grotesque scene before me. I became so angry that the picnic basket exploded in my hand.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!" I screeched, charging forward with bits of smoldering wicker and sandwich splattered all over my uniform.

I'm told that I looked absolutely terrifying, so it's not really shocking that Eva jumped away like she'd been burned and then sprinted off as fast as her long legs would carry her.

Really, it was a complete misunderstanding. Very embarrassing for everyone involved.

But I didn't really know that yet and was completely livid. "What the bloody _hell_?" I shouted.

"I..." Fred stammered, "I don't know. She just... I didn't... why-"

"I don't _care_ why!" I bellowed, shaking with rage, "I am going to find that psycho and _snap her in half_! She has no right to be out molesting random people!"

George couldn't resist an amused snort at my use of the word "molesting."

Without giving it permission to do so, my hand was suddenly flying out to connect hard with George's face. I roared, "Do you think that being forced to do things against your will is _funny_?" I'm not exactly sure when the tears started pouring out of my eyes, but that was about the moment I noticed them. I didn't really understand at first but quickly made the connection: seeing Fred assaulted made me think of Claire's assault on me.

Past traumas make their appearances at the oddest, most inconvenient moments.

Fred was already reaching out to comfort me, closing me tight in his arms and whispering, "It's alright, Stel. She just startled me. I'm fine."

"_You're_ fine?" George growled, holding his bright pink cheek, "I'm in pain over here!"

They bickered heatedly for awhile, but I didn't hear much as I sobbed into Fred's chest.

Soon, my boyfriend had sent his brother elsewhere and was steering me into the nearest deserted classroom. After a bit of quick spell work, we had a comfy couch to curl up on as I gathered my composure.

And I did so quickly, mortified over my outburst and of course over having slapped George. I wanted to go find him and apologize, but Fred asked me to stay.

"I know something bad happened to you, Stella," he murmured, still holding me close and safe and warm, "I just want to understand so that I can help you feel better."

I had promised to tell him. I had intended to tell him, but the moment was never right. And that one did seem appropriate. "The girl who helped me escape the nut house," I began quietly, "Claire. I... I told you she died. It was an accident, but it was my fault."

Fred didn't say anything. Just waited patiently for me to continue.

And I did, disjointed but determined. "She had... sort of crush on me. And I'd already told her that I wasn't interested, but she was... sick. And she broke me out because she thought we should run away together. I told her no again, but she didn't... she wouldn't _listen_. I was all drugged and weak, and I couldn't... I couldn't fight her off. She was... touching me. Rubbing against me... when it was finally over, I pushed her away. She fell and hit her head."

Again, Fred was quiet, but when it became obvious that that was where my story ended, he squeezed me softly and murmured, "That doesn't sound like your fault, love."

"Well, it was," I insisted.

Instead of arguing, Fred merely nuzzled my neck and sighed, "I'm just sorry that you had to go through it at all."

I nodded and whispered, "Me, too." After a few more moments of charged silence, I added, "But I'm glad that I told you. I probably should've sooner, what with all the times I freaked out on you for seemingly no reason. But thanks for not... it was better that you didn't push. I'm not sure that I could've handled telling this story six months ago, let alone just knowing that you knew."

Fred squirmed a bit beneath me, and one look at his face revealed that it wore an expression of sheepish, uncomfortable guilt. I didn't have to wait long for him to blurt out the reason behind it: "I knew. I've known since January."

I pushed him away, my eyes going blurry with tears yet again. "How-" I stuttered, "Who told you?" Quickly running through the short list of people who had knowledge of my attack, I guessed, "Percy?"

"We read about it in his journal," Fred admitted softly.

I pushed him away, again, shouting, "_We_? George knows, too?" Anger and humiliation and betrayal all hit me like a freight train. Really like a physical blow that stole the air from my lungs and made my head spin, my ears ring, my heart pound. "You said you would wait until I was ready to tell you," I hissed, finding speaking difficult, "That you trusted me. The whole point of trusting me is _actually_ trusting me. If you didn't, then you shouldn't have said you did."

He looked stricken, reaching out once more and insisting, "I'm sorry, Stel, but I was just... I was scared. The last time I couldn't figure out what was going in your head, you almost... you were _gone_."

He had a point. But that point didn't change much. "You lied," I argued stubbornly.

"And you left me!" Fred snapped. Even he seemed surprised by the outburst but quickly gathered himself once more, continuing, "Do you have any idea what it was like? Finding out that you'd overdosed? Seeing you catatonic? And then not knowing where the hell you'd gone? If you were even alive? Can you really blame me for doing whatever it takes not to lose you again?"

I swallowed hard, battling down tears as I thought of Fred being alone and heartbroken all that time. It was a low blow, but he was right. And clearly we both had a lot to be sorry for.

Somewhat defeated and deflated, I murmured, "Sometimes you just don't think, Fred."

Gathering me into his arms and resting his forehead against mine, the redhead sighed, "Sometimes you make it hard for me to think."

I chuckled. We kissed. I still didn't feel great about the situation, but... well, it's difficult to explain: even when I'm angry with him, nobody makes me feel quite like Fred does. And there just isn't much that you won't forgive your best friend for.

"No more secrets," I insisted, "Now would be the time to confess any glaring misdeeds."

After a brief but contemplative pause, Fred blushed and shyly admitted, "I... _may_ have... punched your dad."

Well, even though I most likely shouldn't have, I ended up laughing, curling into Fred's chest. "Probably had it coming," I snickered.

Fred nodded and agreed, "Definitely."

(I received no further explanation until years later, and neither will you.)

He squirmed again. I waited.

"There's one more thing," my boyfriend continued, "I _may_ have a small collection of your undergarments in my trunk."

Snorting, I answered, "Well, that explains why I've been going through knickers so quickly ever since we started fooling around."

Fred's relief was palpable, stress melting out of his body. Blue eyes sad and sincere, he murmured, "You know I love you like crazy, right? And I always will."

"I know," I tearfully replied. There was really no cause to cry, but I couldn't stop the urge welling up in my chest. "I love you, too."

xxXxx

Those of you who have been paying attention this chapter might remember that Eva Tenor got a previous mention.

For those of you who happened to gloss over said mention, I shall recap Eva's fleeting importance:

The Ravenclaw prefect had been too ill to do her rounds the weekend before that one, allowing me to replace her with Joshua Lerner as Pucey's partner, allowing the two lads to reconcile and proceed to snog quite vigorously all over my common room for months to come.

It was a tiny bit inconvenient but nowhere near as infuriating as her accidental molestation of my boyfriend: aside from kissing Fred and making me have that awkward conversation with him, she'd apparently managed to infect the redhead with whatever sickness she'd had.

Of course Fred is a strong, healthy young man with the immune system of a Greek god; he sneezed once or twice throughout the weekend, couldn't manage to pack away a third helping of pudding at dinner but was otherwise perfectly fine.

I, unfortunately, am a germ magnet; I barely made it to Grimmauld Place before I started to feel dizzy and queasy and feverish. I lasted through dinner with Dad, Remus, Tonks, and Bill, but when I tried to stand at the end, I fainted right on top of Kreacher.

(This certainly did nothing to improve relations with the ornery house-elf, who from that moment forward always had a snide muttering about my fat arse.)

"Shhh," I heard as I faded back into consciousness, "Rest, love."

Struggling to get my heavy eyelids parted, I croaked, "Daddy?" His face swam into focus above my bed, his smile worried but as steady as his hand expertly manned the cold compress. Suddenly I was two-years-old again. "Daddy," I sniffled, "I don't feel good."

He ran his fingers through my sweat-damp hair and soothed, "I know, baby girl. But Moony says you've just got a bit of a bug. I'm going to take care of you, and you're going to be fine, alright? Try to go back to sleep."

I nodded blankly, feeling safe despite my sickness. My eyes closed. And that was that.

xxXxx

It really was just a bit of a bug, more exhausting and inconvenient than anything. The worst thing to come out of the short brush with contagion was that I accidentally slept right through Harry's meeting at the Hog's Head. Luckily word had already reached him that I wasn't well, so the poor lad wasn't left waiting on me. And I received a complete report from the twins when Dad finally let me head back to school early Monday morning.

(Ok, so maybe I had to sneak out of Grimmauld to escape my father's excessive doting, but I also can't claim that I didn't enjoy being fussed over so lovingly.)

Anyways, despite Harry's worries, the turnout was impressive. The Defense club would be going ahead as planned.

However, there were a few hiccups, the most well-known and obvious of which was Umbridge's response to the suspicious meeting: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. This particular decree stated that "no student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor."

I had students rushing up to me all day begging for help in having their favorite extracurriculars reinstated. And as much as I didn't want to speak to Umbridge at all, I knew that it was still my job to stick up for all the kids she was screwing over with her tyranny and paranoia. And really, why should the many legitimate clubs suffer because of the one secret one?

After dinner, I knocked sharply on her office door, waiting for a breezy, "Enter, please," before striding inside. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am," I greeted pleasantly, nearly biting through my cheek in order to keep from hexing her blind, "But I'd like to submit a list of organizations for your approval. They're all well-established, and most already have faculty sponsors. I'd be more than happy to supervise those that don't, if it would put your mind at ease about... well, I'm not quite sure what exactly you're hoping to accomplish with this ban, but I'm confident in my ability to prevent insurrection on your behalf."

She snatched the list with a huff, examining it casually as the hideous cat portraits yowled and purred and stared at me with their creepy yellow eyes. "Quidditch, I suppose, is harmless enough," said Umbridge, shooting a disdainful glance across the top of the parchment, "Madam Hooch will keep the teams in line." She went through a few more, checking off most off the more typical, harmless clubs, like Gobstones and chess. Clubs that were never really in danger of falling victim to bureaucratic flexing. Clubs that never should've been banned in the first place because they were the complete opposite of secret subversive student organizations.

A small addition at the bottom gave the toad pause. "What is _Orlando and the Ouroboros_?" she asked with a confused and skeptical frown.

I chuckled, "A few of the first-years have started getting together a few nights a week."

Her expression changed to one of intense intestinal distress as the toad inquired, "How many is 'a few,' Miss Black?"

Not knowing whether it would help or hurt my cause, I admitted, "All of them."

She actually pulled back a bit in surprise, pausing for a long beat before disbelievingly demanding, "_All _of them?"

"Yes, ma'am," I stated, quite proud of the munchkins, "Two of the boys were trying to start a rock band, hence the name. But their practices evolved into just open, informal jam sessions that quickly caught on among their year-mates. Most students don't play any instruments, but they like to go and listen. You know, relax, sometimes study or read a bit. Socialize. There's even been some talk of actually giving music lessons. It's all very harmless, but I think it's done wonders for inter-house unity. We might even be witnessing the beginning of the end of all the silly rivalries and bad blood. Isn't that marvelous?"

I hadn't so much talked her into the merits of the club as talked her into a corner, one which she would not be able to leave without looking spiteful and irrational, even to her own admittedly skewed sensibilities.

"I suppose," the toad grumbled, "You will assume responsibility for their behavior then? It would be a shame if something... unfortunate occurred during these meetings." The sinister twinkle in her beady little eyes suggested that she thought otherwise. "We mustn't confuse fleeting tolerance for lasting harmony."

Bitch.

"Of course," I replied with a smile so forced that it was becoming a tad painful, "I really do enjoy sitting in with them. They're lovely children. And _so_ bright."

She... sort of pouted. I guess. It looked more like the weight of her jowls was finally getting the better of the corners of her mouth. "Very well," said the pink monstrosity, "That will be all, Miss Black."

I left to spread the good news. Angelina Johnson hugged me. That was pretty weird. And Orlando Palladino and Larkin Shaw (yes, the two original members of Orlando and the Ouroboros, hence the snake-themed moniker) declared me to be their muse and savior.

All in a day's work.

xxXxx

Anyways, that was Monday. By Tuesday, pretty much every organization had been rebanded. Gryffindor even had a quidditch practice that night. I remember because Fred arrived in my room afterward sporting a black eye and nursing a broken thumb. I healed both, and then my boyfriend and I curled up in front of the fire together. Not talking much but enjoying the time alone. Falling asleep in each other's arms. It was nice.

Wednesday was another story entirely.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sorry about the anticlimax. I didn't realize how long this chapter was getting until I realized that I just had to end it. Meh. I already have more in mind so hopefully more soon.

Points for people willing to guess/look up the names of the puff pups as well as Ouroboros. And reviews, as always, are awesome drenched in greatness.


	29. The Worst Wednesday

Part 29 – The Worst Wednesday

Wednesday. Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. What can I say about Wednesday?

It began simple enough. I woke up just before dawn still snuggled with Fred on my common room couch, got to take a few moments to admire his freckles while he slept.

Unfortunately, this blissful peace did not last long at all. I heard Pucey's door open and glanced over just in time to watch my fellow Head stride out of his room.

Completely bare-arsed.

I froze, unable to do anything but gape stupidly as the skinny Slytherin waltzed right past me in his birthday suit.

He was humming a little, and there was a definite but quite unfortunate spring in his step as he moved toward the table by the big lake-view windows. Pucey gathered the orange juice and pastries that Verry had taken to leaving out (mostly for me, since I was far nicer to the house-elf). He then turned and started back toward his room.

That was when he finally noticed my presence.

"Shit!" he shrieked, jumping and drenching himself with the juice. The pastries tumbled out of his arms as the lad immediately sought to shield his genitals with the plate they'd been occupying.

And... well... I couldn't help myself. "So is that what's passing for a pecker in Slytherin these days?" I inquired, already halfway lost to a fit of hysterical giggles.

Every damn exposed inch of Pucey flushed bright pink.

My laughter woke Fred, who blinked about for a moment before also laying eyes on the black-haired teen. Fred did not share my amusement. "Pucey," he growled, "You'd better have a damn good reason for being without trousers in the presence of my girlfriend."

"I-" the Slytherin stammered, "I- I just... nobody is usually out here so early."

From the way he said it, I gathered that this wasn't Pucey's first naked breakfast dash. And the thought only made me laugh harder. But I had to do that and hold Fred back at the same time, so I didn't really get to enjoy the moment as much as I would've liked.

"Adrian?" Joshua appeared a few seconds later, sleepy and ruffled and thankfully only shirtless in the doorway. But still, he took one glance at the situation and then joined me in laughter.

Pucey looked murderous, Fred completely confused.

I should've guessed that any day starting out with Pucey's wang in my sights could only get worse.

xxXxx

"Gay?" Fred whispered as we walked hand in hand to breakfast. He stared off quizzically for a few moments before asking, "Both of them?"

"No," I replied, rolling my eyes, "Pucey is totally faking to help him fit in."

Still dazed, Fred remained silent for a few more moments before muttering, "But... Pucey goes after girls. All the time. He's a total jerk about it."

"Being a jerk about it pretty much guarantees he won't actually get any of those girls," I laughed, "Not a half bad means of deflection."

Fred shrugged and agreed, "Ya, I guess."

I squeezed his hand, warning, "It's not public knowledge for a reason. Josh likes to be discrete, and Pucey has a total complex. Just try to keep a lid on this for now. I'm not sure either of them could take the public pressure."

"Sure," Fred agreed. He remained distracted though, which didn't exactly make for engaging conversation during the rest of our walk or during breakfast.

Harry informed me that the first official Defense club meeting would be that night. I told him I'd be there, but then I saw the next person he approached and presumably passed this news along to was Cho.

"You can't," I scolded as soon as I managed to drag her off into a deserted classroom, "Part of Harry's plan is for people to practice spells on each other. You absolutely can't let yourself be used as a target!"

Petite chin cocked mulishly, Cho fiddled with her hair and remarked, "I won't volunteer. I'll make up an excuse. It'll be fine."

"It won't be fine!" I shouted, quickly growing frustrated with her lack of concern, "Even if you somehow manage to avoid ever having a spell cast at you on purpose, that's still no guarantee that you'll never get hit! Accidents happen when people are learning! That's why there's practice in the first place! Being in that room puts your son in danger!"

"You're exaggerating," the girl complained. She paced a bit, alternated between glaring at me and the floor. "You're not in charge of me just because you're helping me with this," she spat, "And I don't appreciate being treated like I'm too stupid to make my own decisions."

Frankly flabbergasted, I struggled to find the words to respond, finally settling on, "I am _helping you with this_ and keeping an _enormous_ secret for you mainly because I reasonably believe that there's no need to involve anyone else. But if you think for one second that keeping this secret is more important than your safety or the safety of that baby, if you think that just because no one knows that you have the right to act like it isn't happening... well, that's when there _is_ the need to involve others."

Then she threw a book at my head.

It didn't connect, but only because I ducked. The thick text broke a window and sailed out onto the grounds.

And before I even had much of a chance to process what happened, Cho got all huffy and stomped away.

Hormones. Merlin's left nut.

xxXxx

As if that wasn't bad enough, almost as soon as I had composed myself and summoned the book and fixed the window and stepped out of the room, I saw Orlando and Larkin running toward me down the hallway.

"STELLA!" Larkin cried, the wide-eyed brunette more wide-eyed than usual as he arrived out of breath. Clutching his small acoustic guitar, the boy stammered, "I-I-I think we might be in trouble."

Umbridge rounded the corner, waddling and red in the face. "Stop those boys!" she shouted as she advanced like that boulder in _Indiana Jones_. You know the one I'm talking about. And lucky me to have found myself directly in the boulder's path.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" I inquired flatly. I didn't want to start up against her until I at least had a few facts to go on, but with Larkin and Orlando physically hiding behind me, there didn't seem to be another option.

Blustering and shaking, Umbridge spat, "These two... _miscreants_... never in all my years!"

"Perhaps we should all just take a deep breath," I suggested. I turned to Orlando, the portly blonde seeming the calmest, and asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing," the Slytherin insisted, his expression taking on an adorable mock-innocence that had been quite effective on more than a few of my prefects, "We were just practicing a song."

Almost afraid of how that could've possibly gotten Umbridge so riled, I continued, "Which song?"

"Calling it a song is an insult to music!" the High Inquisitor interrupted, "It is _obviously_ something made up by these two as a personal attack on me! And I will not stand for it! My authority will be _respected_!"

"But we didn't write the song!" Larkin pleaded. He looked up at me, terrified, and insisted, "We didn't write it! It's a Kinks song! I just like it, is all! I thought Lando would like it, too, and then we could teach it to some of the others-"

"Well, you can just forget about that!" said Umbridge, her mousey hair beginning to escape its ridiculous pink bow, "Your silly little club is hereby disbanded! Do you hear me?! There is no way I will allow any students get together solely for the purpose of turning their nasty contempt into songs!"

"Now, hold on!" I responded, not willing to see a club that all the first-years (from all the houses) loved taken away over something that was probably a misunderstanding (or a huge overreaction from the Queen of Overreactions). "Are you an expert on muggle music, ma'am?" I asked cattily.

She snorted, "Certainly not-"

"Well, I happen to like it," I replied, "And I have a pretty decent knowledge of it. The Kinks is a real band. I'm sure Mr. Shaw and Mr. Palladino were just playing one of their classic hits. And I'm sure they didn't mean it as a personal attack on you."

"Right!" Orlando chimed.

I glared at him and hissed, "Not helping."

Not even slightly appeased, Umbridge snarled, "And I am expected to just take your word for it? The daughter of a convicted murderer and fugitive?"

Oh. No. She. Did. Not.

"First of all, _ma'am_," I spat, so lost to rage that my judgment was a bit clouded, my feet propelling me forward and into her face without conscious thought, "My father was _never_ convicted of _anything_. He was thrown in jail _without a trial_ and held there in barbaric conditions for over a decade. Had the Ministry gotten off its _big_, _fat_, _hypocritical_ arse at any point during those years and bothered to give him the trial to which he is _still_ entitled, then his escape from illegal incarceration might not have made me so _very _proud of him."

I think I was scaring her. Umbridge, I mean. I'm told that I can be quite scary, given the right provocation.

"Second," I continued, "Since I am, in fact, _not_ my father, I would appreciate not having his alleged crimes thrown in my face just because you don't agree with me. It's my duty to be an advocate to my fellow students. I intend to do that job zealously, which mainly means protecting them from your disgusting abuses of power. You don't want to believe me that the Kinks is a real band? Fine. But you _will_ at least do us all the courtesy of actually checking. It'll save you the embarrassment, and much more importantly, it'll save the skin on these boys' hands."

Orlando grabbed the back of my shirt. Cheeky little bugger, but I'm sort of glad that someone was there to restrain me a bit, make me realize what I was doing and remind me that I probably shouldn't tear off Umbridge's head and punt it down the hallway.

Tempting as that was.

She cleared her throat, tried to gather herself. Act like I hadn't had her close to wetting her enormous knickers. "I will not stand for being threatened, Miss Black," she hissed, voice low but shaking, "Threatening a teacher-"

"This is not a threat," I cut in, "This is my job. And if you want to punish these boys, then you'll have to go through me."

"We'll just see what the Headmaster has to say about your threats and insubordination," she snapped, posturing but already retreating, "You are just like your father!"

"In that we have both been the victim of false accusations from narrow-minded arseholes?" I countered, easily slipping into my best nut-house smile, "Yes, ma'am. I would have to agree with that comparison. And thank you for noticing."

She growled once more and then waddled off to tattle.

Suddenly drained, I let my body fall against the wall, slid down it and just sat for a moment. Trying to calm down. Breathe. "What damn song were you singing?" I asked the tiny Slytherins, "Please tell me I didn't just go to the mat for nothing."

"It's a real song," Larkin softly reassured me. Both he and Orlando looked a bit shaken by the exchanged. Impressed though. "It's called 'Lola'," Larkin murmured.

_Well, I'm not dumb, but I can't understand_

_Why she walked like a woman but talked like a man_

_Oh my Lola Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola_

"You have _got_ to be kidding," I replied, struck by... their audacity. Their cleverness. Kind of upset that I hadn't thought of it first. Dolores. Lola. So obvious.

_Well, I'm not the world's most masculine man_

_But I know what I am, and I'm glad I'm a man_

_And so is Lola_

_Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-Lola_

At least I got a real good laugh out of it.

xxXxx

The damn song got stuck in my head, which made putting the incident out of my mind extremely difficult, which made concentrating in class nearly impossible. I waited anxiously through Herbology and Charms, expecting to be summoned to Dumbledore's office. Debating whether I should just go up on my own during lunch. Preemptive action, you know?

I didn't, but only because I spotted Cho. She and I had some things to discuss.

"You're being reckless," I scolded, cornering her near the library, "Not to mention a complete bitch."

With a hateful glare, the girl folded her arms and sneered, "Nice bedside manner."

"Hey," I told her, "I am having a shit day, thanks in no small part to you, so how about knocking off the attitude?"

She snorted, "_You_ are going to lecture _me_ about attitude? That's rich."

Groaning, yanking at my hair in absolute frustration, I demanded, "Just think about this. There's a reason that people in your _condition_ shouldn't participate in certain activities. Unless you've changed your mind about keeping him, then you have a duty to do everything you can to keep him safe. Showing up to dueling practice is _not_ one of those things."

Expression absolutely icy, the slim Ravenclaw hissed, "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

I wanted to hit her.

Instead, I took a deep, calming breath and declared, "If it's about learning the skills, I'll be more than happy to teach them to you_ after_ you've delivered."

"Harry invited me, and I'm going," Cho snapped, "Deal with it."

I stared at her for another moment, a thought slowly solidifying in my mind. "You fancy Harry!" I accused, "For Merlin's sake, girl! How can you even be thinking of dating in your condition?!"

She turned red but stubbornly insisted, "I'm _not_! Shut _up_! You don't know _anything_!" And with that, she stormed away once more.

xxXxx

I would've liked to vent to my boyfriend, but I was already nearly late for Potions. Even after sprinting like a madwoman all the way to the dungeons, I didn't make it in time to talk to him before class began.

Potions was never particularly pleasant. Snape still hated my dad and therefore me by association. But usually his snide comments were relatively halfhearted and easy to ignore.

That Wednesday, however, happened to follow an Order meeting. During said meeting, Daddy had seen fit to regale the assorted members with tales of hijinks from his Hogwarts days. Most of his tales featured ruthless pranks perpetrated against everyone's favorite greaseball, Mr. Severus Snape.

So Snape was in a mood and quite willing to take it out on me.

"You are aware, Miss Black, that we are making Veritaserum?" he drawled, peering over my shoulder and into my so far flawless concoction, "Not _bootleg liquor_?"

I clenched my teeth. Took a deep breath. "Yes, sir," I declared evenly, "I believe it's going quite well, but as always, your input is appreciated."

Slowly circling my station, he responded, "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"For?" I sighed.

"No, _from_," the spindly old bat answered, clearly enjoying the pathetic powertrip, "But we might as well make it another twenty if you're not going to listen."

My eyes actually started to hurt from wanting to roll so badly. "Yes, sir," I said once more. It was already a bad day, and I didn't feel like getting thrown out of class. The best revenge would be to turn in a perfect potion and force Snape to reward me with the highest marks.

But he forced my hand. "Tell me, Miss Black," Snape declared, "Do dismal potion skills run in your family? Or is it just the undeserved arrogance and violent mental illness you've managed to inherit from your degenerate father?"

Most of the class had abandoned their assignments to watch our exchange, cauldrons boiling over and ingredients remaining half chopped.

I took another deep, calming breath. And then I smiled. "Tell me, Professor Snape," I countered, "How does it feel to know that generations of Hogwarts students think of your filthy, grease-soaked hair and ridiculous mountain of a nose to stave off their orgasms?"

There were a few nervous sniggers from around the lab.

Snape narrowed his gaze, hissing, "Out."

Worth it.

xxXxx

With lots of time to kill before dinner, I decided to drop in on Moaning Myrtle. I hadn't been to see her in a while, and I figured that she couldn't possibly make my day any worse.

Wrong.

I stepped through the door and, _BAM_, Ginny's boobs.

"Of course," I sighed, waiting a moment to be acknowledged by the topless redhead and her dark-haired snogging partner. Even after I loudly cleared my throat, they continued to grope each other and roll across the floor, exchanging vigorous manual favors. I finally settled for picking up Ginny's discarded shirt and throwing it at her.

"S-Stella!" she cried, trying frantically to cover herself and shove Michael Corner's hand out from under her skirt, his cock back into his half-buttoned trousers, "I... it's... not what it looks like!"

"Really?" I challenged, "Because it looks like you're giving a handjob on the floor of a public toilet, so I would love nothing more than to be mistaken about my interpretation of events."

She turned redder than I'd ever seen. "Don't tell the twins!" the girl begged, clutching her shirt against her flushed, freckly chest.

"We can discuss that once you're both dressed," I replied, "I'll wait outside."

I spent my few moments in the hallway trying to decide what to do. I didn't want to turn them in, if only for the fact that the collective of Weasley men currently stationed at Hogwarts would very likely castrate Corner. And it would be unbearably awkward with the twins. How do you even begin to tell your best friends that you've seen their baby sister handling another boy's junk?

Ginny was still blushing when she and her boyfriend meekly emerged. She kept blushing as I ordered them to follow me, took them to the nearest empty classroom, and had them sit in the front row.

"You're both very young," I began, hopping up onto the large desk in front of the blackboard, primly crossing my legs, "But I won't pretend that what you were doing is bad or wrong. The setting was a bit strange and definitely not sanitary but not the worst I've ever heard. Sex is natural. It's a personal choice. I'd prefer not to have to witness yours again, nor hear that you've been indulging in it instead of going to class, but I know I can't stop you if you've decided that you're ready."

Absolutely mortified, Ginny insisted, "We weren't having sex. We haven't. We just... I don't know. It just happened."

I nodded, kindly stating, "I understand, love. I'm going to give you both a week's detention for cutting class, but no one needs to hear what you were doing."

"Thank you, Stella," the redhead gushed, looking for a moment there like she was going to jump up and hug me (I probably would've decked her; there was no telling what sort of germs she'd picked up rolling around the bathroom floor with Corner), "Thank you so much! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

"Hold onto that gratitude until you hear the second half of the punishment," I said with a smirk, rummaging through my book bag for the medical texts I was carrying. With a few waves of my wand, the walls and blackboard were suddenly covered with anatomical diagrams and photos of diseased genitalia. (I really would've preferred the photos not have been moving, but that's the wizarding world for you.)

The two young teens gaped around the room in horror.

It was about the reaction I expected. "Sex is a big step," I said, "And like all big steps, it shouldn't be made without learning as much information as possible. So welcome to your sexual education. Now, let's start with birth control..."

xxXxx

Though I had long thought that Hogwarts needed a sexual education program, I hadn't had any desire to be the one teaching it. Even though I only had two students, and even though all either of them did for the full two hours was stammer and blush and avoid eye contact, the whole experiment went...um... not well, but as well as could be expected.

After I finally released the pair, sending them off with _my_ damn condoms and a lifelong aversion to sex in public places, I mirror-called the twins but received no answer. I found out later that they had brewed an extremely foul-smelling potion in order to punish Snape for his treatment of me. The twins subsequently spent the remainder of the class period as well as dinner being screamed at by the irate Potions master.

Fred said that watching the professor shout at them while trying not to retch was actually quite entertaining.

Unfortunately, it was shortly after they were finally permitted to leave that the twins discovered prolonged exposure to their impromptu concotion had caused them to sprout boils in uncomfortable places generally not displayed outside the privacy of one's own bedroom. This (coupled with the fact that the condoms had gone to his irresponsible sister) caused further delay to my and Fred's plans for some safe sex of our own.

Bloody Wednesday.

After Sex Ed., I was late to dinner and starving but still opted to take the long way in order to dodge several prefects who I knew would only be delivering bad news and delays. One of these meddlesome few was my dear cousin Malfoy; however, despite the lad's many assorted flaws, he is marginally intelligent and exceptionally observant.

He caught up with me just as I was nearing the Great Hall. "Hey," the sickly blonde ferret sneered, "Quit assigning me to patrols with Weasley! At least until that halfwit discovers breath mints!"

I sighed, exhausted, and muttered, "Nice to see you, too, Draco. It's been awhile."

"You want pleasantries?" he huffed, trailing along in my wake, "Then stop torturing me. I know you're doing it on purpose."

Rolling my eyes, I answered, "You caught me. I'm a dastardly bitch for giving my prefects time together to work on their issues. Turn me into Dumbledore. I deserve nothing less."

"It won't be that senile old fraud I turn you in to," hissed Malfoy. He stomped off to the Slytherin table before I could demand to know that the hell he was threatening.

Not that it was hard to figure out: Umbridge was likely recruiting an army of deluded lackeys.

That didn't bode well for my job security or the overall safety of the entire student body, but at the moment, I could only manage to concern myself with getting through the rest of the day.

xxXxx

The last major item on my schedule was the first meeting of Harry's Defense club.

Unfortunately, I never made it there. I was on my way when I heard hushed giggles echoing through the corridors.

This might not seem like anything, but as someone who often sets pranks and causes mischief, I can easily identify the type of giggling that goes along with it. And the giggling I heard was clearly of that sort.

I followed the voices and (as suspected) found Larkin and Lando up to no good.

Larkin had a can of spray paint in hand and was putting the finishing touches on an extremely unflattering but impressively accurate mural that depicted Umbridge's bulbous corpse swinging from a massive noose. Beside him, Orlando's large messy letters read HANG THE INQUISITOR. The giggling writer was standing back to admire the whole work.

"Hufflepuff's hemorrhoids," I hissed, immediately trying to _scourgify_ the wall (which was of course located in a heavily trafficked area very close to Umbridge's office), "Are you two trying to get yourselves killed?"

"No," Orlando pouted, the pudgy blonde doing his adorable-and-oh-so-innocent routine even though he knew very well it didn't work on me, "We're rebelling."

Despite being annoyed and unable to get the mural to vanish, I couldn't help a small chuckle. I said, "Clearly. But there are certainly better, safer ways. Tell me what spell you used. I've got to get rid of this before the Toad sees it. She's likely to have the entire school put in thumb screws."

"It's not a spell," Larkin reported proudly as he held up his spray paint can, "It's a potion. We mixed it with some paint and then pressurized it. Magic is so awesome."

I rolled my eyes, reaching to take the can away. Unfortunately, I grabbed it wrong and ended up spraying myself right in the face with a hideous shade of orangeish pink that would not wash off for days. The sour chemical taste filled my mouth and nose, making my closed eyes water.

But I suppose it was good that I'd closed them: it spared me the fuzziness and vertigo that come with having one's body shrink rapidly to the size of a small mouse.

"Oh, crap," I muttered, dizzy but hurriedly doing my best to cover my naked self in the sea of fabric that had once been a well-fitting uniform, "Were there doxy eggs in the potion?"

Wide-eyed, suddenly towering over me like pre-teen giants, the boys nodded in horror.

"Damnit," I squeaked. Another visit from my absurd and inconvenient allergy: just what I needed. "One of you better have a clean handkerchief to give me right now."

Orlando thankfully did and relinquished it without complaint.

As soon as I had managed to swaddle myself respectably in the still quite large stretch of material and direct the boys to recover my now ludicrously enormous clothing, jewelry, wand, etc., I shakily stood and glared up at the two perpetrators.

I would've scolded them briefly, ordered them take down the mural, and then made them transport me and my belongings directly to Fred.

However, I never got the chance. Umbridge's foreboding _hem-hem_ echoed from somewhere just around the corner.

"Run!" I shouted.

I should've been more specific. I should've said, "Pick me up, put me in your pocket, and then run!"

But the Slytherins had already dashed away from the scene of their crime, leaving me to futilely attempt to hobble after them for a few steps before giving up and hiding myself in a crack in the stone wall.

Holding my breath, I listened and watched as the sound of Umbridge's footsteps grew closer and her bloated cankles came into view. She gave a shriek of rage and began trying to blast the mural away.

She had no more luck removing it than I did. But her spells shook my hiding place until I was sure it would collapse, burying my tiny skeleton for all eternity. I could barely breathe around all the dust.

The woman finally abandoned her efforts, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

I slapped a hand tight over my mouth to keep from coughing and giving away my presence (and predicament). I had a terrifying vision of being kept in a jar on her desk for the next three days.

Finally, Umbridge waddled away, muttering to herself like a crazy person about the vile brats that populated Hogwarts.

Trembling, I remained in my hiding place and tried to formulate a plan.

xxXxx

I discovered quickly that I could still perform magic; I hadn't had the opportunity to try last time, being that I had myself mailed to my fugitive father. However, the power of my spells seemed to be proportional to my size, and I couldn't do much.

But I was able to cut my handkerchief into a smaller square, tying the fabric securely around myself like a toga. Satisfied that I at least wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of being practically nude as well as being miniature, I set out in search of help.

I should've stayed put. I would've eventually been missed, and the twins would've had Harry locate me on the Map. Fred and George would've laughed when they found me, but they would've found me and taken care of me until I was my rightful size once more.

It took a half hour for me to reach the end of the vast hallway. As soon as I did, Mrs. Norris pounced from out of nowhere.

I barely had time to scream before her enormous paw swung at my little body and hit hard enough to knock me out cold.

xxXxx

By some miracle, I was not eaten by a colossal cat. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but this is my best guess:

Cats are fucking weird. And they do fucking weird things, like presenting their owners with dead animals as gifts.

I think that, after rendering me unconscious, Mrs. Norris must've carried me off and given me to Filch, who probably didn't even look at his filthy, mangled present before throwing it out.

Later, a house-elf emptied the rubbish bin.

I had never wondered what became of Hogwarts's garbage before waking up in a large, stinking pit of it deep within the Forbidden Forest. My previously white handkerchief toga had turned a disgusting shade of splotchy gray-brown, which was unpleasant for all of my senses but looked especially ridiculous with my orangeish pink painted face.

There are no words to properly describe just how terrified and confused I felt at waking up in such a location and state.

My body ached like I'd been run over by a hippogriff, but somehow I was alive. I didn't think much about how I had escaped death, at that moment far too concerned with how I was going to keep escaping for the next three days.

xxXxx

Fortunately, Wednesday had already ended while I was unconscious. It was Thursday, and Thursday was a much less horrible day.

I was able to walk far away from the garbage pit without encountering further danger. I found a small puddle and rinsed off. Although all that really accomplished was covering me in mud instead of trash juices, it was by far a better alternative.

I had no way of telling exactly where or how far from the school I was, so instead of venturing away and getting myself even more hopelessly lost, I constructed a small shelter using sticks and leaves (and some magic, of course). And I sat and waited.

After so much chaos and insanity, having a day to do nothing should've been a lot more relaxing than it actually was. Instead I felt tense and nervous as the hours stretched on without any sign of a miraculous rescue.

Night fell, and I started to get scared again. I sat in the dark for awhile, debating whether or not I should risk starting a small fire (lest it attract one of the train-sized insects I'd been spotting from afar). I finally did, too cold and terrified to stand any longer without some light and heat.

As soon as I'd gotten comfortable, a bird swooped out of the blackness, circling and cawing loudly. And, once again, I thought I was going to be eaten by a comically enormous animal.

The bird landed nearby. It was a raven. And then it was George. "Stella?" he called, squinting toward my fire and standing very still (probably in case he stepped on me).

"Here!" I shouted squeakily. I jumped up and down, waving my arms until I managed to make myself seen.

George crouched, flashing a relieved smile and scooping me into his hand. "You know," he chuckled as he saw my painted face, "Pink is not a camouflage color."

Suddenly exhausted from my ordeal, I collapsed into the warmth of his palm and demanded, "Shut up and take me home, arsehole."

xxXxx

Larkin and Lando thankfully had enough sense in their heads to realize that they'd left me behind in a vulnerable state and to immediately inform Fred. Well, as soon as they found him, which wasn't until after the D.A. meeting, after midnight. I was probably already in the trash pit.

Also thankfully, I had a very good boyfriend, and he tirelessly coordinated the search efforts using everything at his disposal, including his brother's ability to transform into a bird and subsequently spot my fire from the air.

(I would've appreciated that much more if I hadn't had to travel back to the castle clinging to George's slippery feathers more than a mile from the ground. The experience certainly renewed my dislike for flying.)

But once I made it back safe and sound and spent several hours relaxing in a hot bath (ok, a soup bowl full of hot soapy water and the antidote to Larkin's paint potion), even the terror of that treacherous part of my asinine journey began to melt away.

"We really need to develop a system for when this sort of thing happens," Fred suggested, lounging on my bed but not taking his eyes off me in my stupid soup bowl on the nightstand. "You know, so that you don't actually get eaten by a bloody cat."

I hummed in agreement, reporting, "Don't worry. Next time I'm going to cower in a hole until you come save me."

He laughed. "Well, I was going to suggest that," he said, "But I thought you might try to chew through my jugular."

"Being tiny is terrifying," I insisted, "I don't know what I was thinking letting you mail me around. And you have my permission to remind me of this disaster if I ever have such a stupid idea ever again." After a brief silence, I sighed, "Anyways, how was Harry's thing? Was Cho there?"

Fred nodded, yawning, "George and I did our best to cover her in shield charms. It was kind of difficult to do without her noticing. Not sure it'll be possible every meeting."

I groaned, "Stubborn twat."

xxXxx

Of course, I had to miss the remainder of my classes that week (not that I would ever mourn a chance to skip Defense), but I refused to allow my damn allergy to keep me from my usual weekend plans. Which meant having to confess to my various parental figures my somewhat less substantial height.

"Oh, baby girl," Dad laughed, bringing his face close to the table top where I stood in all my three-inch glory, "Didn't I warn you about cats?"

"Yes, Daddy," I sighed.

Uncle Remus had already taken care of most of the scolding; Bill had an actual physical list of jokes, and he was barely halfway through it.

But from my dad I just got that laugh. A proud laugh, if I do say so.

We spent the rest of Friday and Saturday hanging out like normal. I grew back to my normal size on Saturday night, spent a few hours getting over the aches that came with such a rapid change in stature, and then Dad and I snuck out for more driving lessons. You might be pleased to know that I was far more adept at steering a car than I was at steering a broom or even a sentient raven.

First thing Monday, I encountered Mrs. Norris in the hallway halfway between bed and breakfast. The moment was awkward, to say the least, and not just because the dastardly feline still clearly had a strong desire to devour my soul.

"Steady, Stel," Fred laughed. Even thought he was making light, the damnable cat did turn up dyed orangeish pink and meowing opera just a few hours later.

"Beast," I hissed, skirting the still dust-colored sack of evil.

We continued on around the next corner, walking along in relaxed silence before my boyfriend announced, "So... we bought the storefront."

I turned to gape at him. "What?" I cackled happily, "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Saturday," answered Fred, "And because things have been a bit hectic, _Thumbelina_."

Giving him a playful swat, I declared, "Well, that's amazing news! We should celebrate!"

He smiled that dashing, roguish smile of his, agreeing, "I'm glad you think so. I've had an excellent idea for a bit of fun..."

xxXxx

By the following morning, Umbridge had grown a pimple right in the middle of her clammy forehead. This pimple was far larger than other pimples, swollen and raw and pinkish white. And it would not shut up.

"_Oi! Oi, you! Woman!... Wait, you a woman? Good Godric, I think we're going to need to see some documentation..._"

For most of the morning, I heard, the Toad staunchly refused to acknowledge that anything was amiss, or to address the talking boil that had taken residence on her brow.

"_What is that horrendous smell? Dear delicate Diana, I do believe it is you, my large lady love. Have a care for the rest of us and actually take some care in washing that cavernous cunt of yours next time you deign to overflow a bathtub._"

As the insults grew more colorful, so did the Inquisitor's humiliated face. As the Inquisitor's rage grew, so did the blemish. Until its crass voice could be heard from three hallways away. Until it began composing songs.

"_How much is that fatty in the castle? Woof woof! The one with the rancid old cunt? How much is that fatty in the castle? Woof woof! Which is worse, her back or her front?_"

By the time Umbridge decided to stow her pride and go into hiding, neither her reputation nor her authority had hope of salvage.

But that was half the point. Anything to erode what little power she'd managed to scrape together from fear and intimidation.

Oh yes. Monday was a splendid day.

xxXxx

Of course, nothing of much note happened for several weeks after.

Well, except for this one thing. I sort of invented a game. We called it BTB, which stands for Behind the Back. It was a variation on charades, except you had to act out your clue during class, behind the professor's back, without getting caught. The other players held up signs with their guesses, but only when the professor turned his back on them.

We mostly played during Potions, because of course accomplishing the feat in Snape's presence was worth far more points. And despite initially getting some very odd looks from our classmates, even the Slytherins eventually asked to join our dangerous yet hilarious pastime. Competition grew fierce, with personal and House pride at stake.

But other than that and a few minor scuffles with the Toad, the days went by quickly and quietly. We made it through Halloween and into November before trouble reared its ugly head once more.

As many of you doubtless know, that was the year Ron Weasley made the quidditch team as keeper. He was pretty good. Sometimes. The poor lad had this problem with... I guess you could call it performance anxiety...

"I'm going to be sick," he announced during breakfast the morning of the Gryff-Slyth showdown. The statement certainly appeared accurate; Ron's skin was pale even in terms of pale ginger skin, with just a hint of green in the cheeks.

I threw an arm around his skinny shoulders. "C'mon, Ronniekins," I soothed, "It's just a matter of confidence. Believe in your own awesomeness, and your awesomeness will make itself known."

Laughing, Ginny agreed, "Very Zen."

We chatted. Ron fretted. And soon it was time for the players to depart. I walked Fred out and stopped him just beyond the doors of the Great Hall.

"Good luck," I said with a smile, leaning up to kiss him deeply, relaxing into his strong arms.

I could feel his smile against my lips as his tongue tasted mine.

When Fred finally pulled away, brushing my hair out of my face, he murmured, "With a charm like that, I can't lose."

"Better believe it," I laughed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in close, giggling, "And we'll have to have a special _private party_ in my room to celebrate your victory." I'd finally had the opportunity to sneak out for more condoms, and I swore I'd actually get to use them this time.

Though Fred seemed to really, _really_ like the idea, he stepped back and smirked. "Don't say that, love," he scolded, "Every time we make _plans_, something gets in the way."

I laughed, shaking my head and arguing, "Nonsense. It was just that once. A bit of bad luck. Tonight will be different." I kissed him again, briefly. After, I straightened his robes and teased, "Be sure to bring your uniform. You look so handsome in it, and I'm sure you'd look even better stripping it off for me."

Fred whined, "If you keep up like this, I'm not going to be in any shape to stay on a broom."

"Oh well," I chuckled, bouncing away with one more saucy wink.

xxXxx

Fred would later refer to my uncanny ability to promise sex right before a catastrophic sex-preventing incident as a "Sex Jinx."

I never really appreciated the name but nonetheless must admit that I was getting quite good at forecasting doom through my horniness and belief that _the moment_ was upon us.

Although Gryffindor won the match, Harry and George stupidly let Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin cretins bait them into a brawl afterward. Umbridge used the opportunity to ban Harry and George from quidditch; the nasty old hag threw in a ban for Fred as well, because he looked like George, or because he was a troublemaker, or because he was dating me. Pick a reason; they're all moronic.

Needless to say, the mood that night was quite sour and not at all romantic.

The twins destroyed a classroom a piece, smashing everything in their paths while I watched and seethed and tried to figure out how I could help. While I realized that I couldn't.

xxxxxxxxxx

Yay for an update. Hopefully more soon. Reviews are love :)


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